After the dinner at the Shahzadeh, Hermione tried to ignore the subtle worry that Jasmine would disappear again. The other witch hadn't given any indication she would, but the tiny doubt niggled annoyingly at the back of her mind that perhaps their re-acquaintance had been just that… a meeting of acquaintances, not friends.
If Ron had the same worries he kept it hidden from his fiancee as well as his family. The couple had all but been required to give a report to the Weasleys, like it was back during the war and the Order had been re-formed. Hermione was irritated, but tried to remember that they meant well.. if the wizarding world had telephones, the redheaded clan would all have been hovering over theirs. They were glad to hear that Jasmine had met with the pair, but couldn't understand why they hadn't come home with her, as if anyone could make Jasmine do anything she didn't want to do. Of the others, only Bill had seen, and understood.
The days passed as they had... but at least this time there was a subtle undercurrent of hope instead of the feelings of abandonment that had permeated their lives before. And when Jasmine finally owled them again a week later, via the same large, regal owl that had visited them before, it was with a letter of such astonishingly mundane concern that Hermione actually laughed at it.
"'I can't find my dress. Did I have one already? Are the bridesmaids coordinating?'" Ron didn't understand why she found it so funny.
Hermione worked hard to remember this was Jasmine... but she couldn't simply ignore the fact that she was also trading letters with Morgana. Morgana le Fay, her Maid of Honour! Hermione had experienced a lot of weirdness of her life courtesy one Jasmine James Potter, and her friend was continuing to push the borders. But the letter was subtle confirmation that she wasn't backing out of the event, and Hermione had almost wanted to hug the prissy owl for delivering it. She hadn't, but the big bird had fluffed his feathers and glared at her suspiciously as if sensing her compulsion.
They exchanged letters frequently over the next few days. Jasmine would sometimes be slow responding, but she explained that she was actually in the process of moving her household back to England - from British Columbia, of all places. Hermione silently awarded herself an 'Exceeds Expectations' on her "Morgana/Wadjet" research project… she'd guessed that the witch had moved to the Americas. By unspoken agreement, they never mentioned history in their letters… instead it was mundane stuff, things that were happening now, no different from their schooling years during the more peaceful times… when they could exchange owls over the summers without interference from Death Eaters or well-meaning but deranged house-elves.
No, she hadn't yet bought a dress, Hermione assured her. And no, she was the only bridesmaid, so there was no coordination necessary. They had opted for a smaller wedding: three dozen people, if that, most of them Weasleys. Hermione's own parents would be there, of course, but her few aunts and uncles didn't know of the magical world and thus couldn't attend a magical wedding. She'd had to invite a number of dorm-mates from Hogwarts just to avoid the wedding being drowned in redheads... and that was just Ron's immediate family! To everyone's relief, Ron's Aunt Muriel would not be attending, and Rita Skeeter had been assigned "curse on sight" status.
She sent that reply back with the big tawny owl, as other owls were unable to find the way. When she'd mentioned that in front of Jasmine's bird, the creature had spread his wings and hissed (sending poor Pigwidgeon fleeing into the bedroom), utterly insulted that she'd even dared using another owl to communicate with his mistress. She'd had to apologize for a solid half-hour before he'd even let her tie the letter to his leg. She let Ron deal with the mess Pig had made on his pillow.
Jasmine replied asking for a picture of Hermione's bridal gown... and to the younger witch's hurried postscript she supplied the name of the owl: Husani, Egyptian for 'handsome'. Hermione made a show of thoroughly agreeing with that name, cooing over the preening bird... it seemed to work, the owl acting a little less snotty. She fondly remembered how vain and possessive Hedwig had been and wondered if Jasmine simply had that kind of preference in pets.
Then it occurred to her that Jasmine probably didn't remember Hedwig, and that made her sad.
It was Saturday morning. Hermione was sitting in the kitchen, lounging in her bathrobe after a refreshing shower and enjoying a cup of morning tea, hoping Husani would make another visit. It was getting too cold to leave the window open for him, so she waited patiently for the distinctive tapping of a beak against the glass. She'd prepared a few extra slices of bacon as a bribe... though if the owl didn't show up soon, Ron would likely steal them.
Instead, there was a knock at the door of the flat. Curious, Hermione stood and quietly glanced through the door's peephole (old habits from the war died slowly). Her eyes went wide and a second later she was wrenching the door open. "Jasmine!"
The former Girl-Who-Lived actually jumped back half a step, giving her a bemused look at the force of the greeting. "Hello, Hermione." Green eyes cast up and down her bathrobe. "Did I interrupt something?"
"No, no! I got out of the shower half an hour ago. I was just having some tea. Come in!" She stepped aside to let the other woman enter. Jasmine gave her a small smile and stepped inside, Hermione closing the door behind her and trying not to look too anxious.
She paused a moment to stare at Jasmine's back. Compared to how they'd seen her previously, the dark-haired witch was dressed in a remarkably mundane manner… a vibrant green jumper atop blue jeans and white runners. She wore a thigh-length, dark green jacket against the gathering chill of fall. Her hair - nearly a foot longer than when they'd left for Egypt - was tied back in the same braid they'd seen in Egypt. But the thing that surprised the young witch the most was the gold-framed glasses perched on her friend's nose.
Jasmine glanced over her shoulder. "What is it?"
"You're wearing glasses again."
"Ah." She plucked them from her face and held them out for inspection. "They're just glass, not corrective. I use a charm for that."
"I wanted to ask about that! I saw you weren't wearing your glasses in Egypt or at the restaurant. You're using the True Vision charm?"
"That's the one. Each morning like clockwork."
She was standing in her living room in a bathrobe talking about vision charms. Eh... nobody would be surprised. "I never understood why they didn't teach you that in school! It'd make… er, would have made your life easier."
A wry smile tilted Jasmine's lips. "They wouldn't have thought about it… if you get too used to casting it a certain way, you can't adapt when your vision changes. I'm probably the only person who's ever had the exact same prescription for thousands of years." She gestured again at Hermione's robe. "Did you want me to come back later?"
"No!" She burst out, then blushed. "I mean, it'll only take a second for me to get dressed. I need to kick Ron, too… he's had way too much of a lie-in. Have a seat, I'll be right back!" After gesturing at the admittedly threadbare couch, Hermione dashed into the bedroom.
She tried not to slam drawers or the wardrobe doors as she dashed around putting on clothing. Her thump onto the bed drew an annoyed grunt from the lump under the duvet. "Ron!" she hissed through the stocking held in her teeth. "Get up!"
"It's Saturday, 'Mione."
"It's nearly eleven! And Jasmine is here!"
It took five seconds for her words to sink in, and then Ron suddenly bolted upright. "What? Jas is here?"
"Yes, so get up, you lump!" She stood, buttoning her trousers and ignoring the burst of panicked movement behind her. She paused long enough in front of the mirror to make sure that the combination of blouse, jumper, and trousers wasn't completely ridiculous before opening the door - causing Ron, currently clad only in boxers, to squawk in brief panic - and returning to the main room of the flat.
What she saw there nearly caused her to trip: Jasmine had taken a seat on the couch, her coat folded over the armrest, in the same spot she'd always chosen when staying over. The way she sat was different, with her legs elegantly crossed and one hand resting on her knee, and her glasses were different, and finally - finally! - she had some "meat on her bones", as Molly would put it. But the place she sat was "Jasmine's spot", and the Broom Enthusiast newsletter she was currently browsing belonged nowhere but in her hands. For a brief moment Hermione could pretend that the previous four months hadn't happened.
Then a thud and curse from the room behind her made the other witch look up, breaking the spell. "Ronald isn't going to kill himself, is he?"
"If he does, it'll be his own fault. And the wedding might actually be easier if he was an Inferius!" she shouted over her shoulder.
"Possibly, but the smell might be a problem."
"Or maybe an improvement."
"What? Are you two making fun of me?" Ron stumbled in, dressed in jeans and a Chudley Cannons t-shirt. He hopped noisily on one foot while putting on a sock, the other slung over his shoulder.
"Ron, sit down," his fiancee scolded. "You're going to get us in trouble with the tenants downstairs. Again!" He snorted, but obediently flopped down onto the couch opposite their visitor. Sighing, Hermione took the soft chair next to him.
"Sorry, Jas," he apologized, tugging his sock on. "Wasn't expecting visitors."
"Don't worry about it, I did show up unannounced. I would have flooed, but I didn't remember the floo address."
"It's just 'Hermione and Ron's Flat'," Hermione supplied helpfully.
"Oh. I should have guessed that."
Silence descended on the room, and the three stared at each other.
"Well, this is deliciously awkward," Jasmine said into the silence. "Can we please do something?"
"Yes!" she agreed with desperation. "Do something! Umm… what did you want to do?"
Jasmine didn't really 'fidget' anymore, but she saw the other witch's fingers flex. "I don't know. I didn't come here with any agenda. I just wanted to spend time with you."
Hermione fought down an urge to seize the other woman into a hug. "What would you normally do on a Saturday?"
She smiled wryly. "Probably paperwork at KI. I doubt you want to watch that. Besides," she grumbled, "Geoffrey and Janine have conspired to lock me out of my own office."
"Who're they?"
"Janine is my secretary at KI. Geoffrey's my butler."
"They know who you are?" Hermione asked over Ron's incredulous, "You have a butler?"
Jasmine glanced between them. "Janine knows about magic - her daughter is a muggleborn, actually, and she's studying at Salem - but not really about me. Geoffrey knows everything... his family has served me for generations. Always voluntarily," she specified for Hermione's benefit. "They seem to consider it some point of pride. He comes from a line of squibs who were cast out by the Goyle family, and I think they get some kind of perverse pleasure that their family should be bound to me."
"Tossed out by the Goyles?" Ron said. "And now working for Morgana? Well, I can see that being two fingers to their cousins."
"That's one way to put it. Anyway, they've been good friends to me. You'll like him." She rolled her eyes, an action so different from the poise she'd presented at the restaurant that Hermione nearly giggled. "Certainly he wouldn't get away with liberties like locking me out of my office and shooing me out of my own home otherwise."
"Well, I'm glad he did," Hermione said. "What would you like to do?"
"I don't know," she repeated. "When I was here before, what would we do on a Saturday morning?"
Ron and Hermione shared a look. "Well, if you were here overnight, we'd probably visit the Burrow for breakfast. My mum loves cooking for you," he said.
Her discomfort deepened. "Do you mind if we hold off on that, just a little longer? I'm still finding my feet here. Did you tell your family what happened?"
"We had to, when we came home without you," Ron replied carefully. "They're happy that you're okay, but they really miss you. Mum's been going spare."
She sighed, and closed her eyes for a brief minute, one finger resting on her upper lip. "I'll talk to them soon, I promise. I need to get some things in order… I've only been back in the UK for about six months. Honestly, I've never had to resume an identity before."
"Where were you before, other than British Columbia?" the younger witch asked, curiosity getting the better of her.
"I've been splitting my time between Asia and the Americas for the past three hundred years or so… mostly North America." She allowed a smile to show. "Young societies are fun, and the USA and Canada have been lively, although they're slowing down."
Hermione shook her head. "I can't picture you as a settler."
"You'd be surprised... I'll show you my old hacienda someday. But… what were your plans, before I intruded?"
"Well, I need to stop by Diagon Alley to get some potion ingredients. It's nearly lunch… did we want to eat at the Leaky Cauldron?"
"I haven't been to Diagon Alley in twenty years. You'll have to guide me. And cover for me if we run into someone I've forgotten. Which will be… well, everyone."
"That's not a problem, we can do that."
Jasmine stood, gathering up her jacket. "Lead the way, then."
Whatever else had changed, one thing hadn't: Jasmine's skill (or lack thereof) with the floo.
Hermione covered her mouth to hide a smile as her friend stumbled out of the fireplace located outside the Leaky Cauldron, the grace that let her practically float across the sands in Egypt nowhere to be seen. She staggered but didn't fall, taking a moment to reorient herself and pushing her now-ornamental glasses back into place with a movement that was incredibly familiar to the younger witch.
She glared at Hermione from behind those glasses. "Shush."
"I didn't say anything," she replied, although her amusement was plain enough in her voice.
Behind Jasmine the flames flared high and green as Ron stepped out. The dark-haired witch raised a hand and snapped her fingers. A small cleaning wind swept across the three of them, banishing the ash and smoothing their clothing.
Hermione looked down. "Oh, teach me that, please!"
"Later," Ron said. "Food first, magic later!"
The floo to Diagon Alley let them out right next to the Leaky Cauldron. They'd arrived early enough that the pub was only just starting to get busy with the lunch rush, and their "usual" table in the corner was free. Normally the three would bicker over who got to sit in the corner seat, but this time Ron and Hermione yielded to to their friend… although whether it was because of her age, reputation, or simply because they were happy to have her back, it didn't matter.
Despite herself, Hermione couldn't help but compare the dark shabbiness of the pub to the opulence of the Shahzadeh… but if Jasmine was bothered, she didn't say so. Instead, green eyes scanned over the patrons, visibly noting the people who had raised their heads to watch the Golden Trio and the Girl-Who-Won. Hermione noticed a few double-takes among the faces as they noticed Jasmine's much-improved health. She also noticed quite a few blushes, as the heroine of the war no longer shyly ducked her head but instead blankly stared at their observers until they found something more polite to look at.
"Hi, guys!" She looked up to see Hannah Abbott standing at their table. The blonde Hufflepuff had been hired as a waitress at the pub shortly after the war, settling quite happily into the role. Like her boyfriend Neville, the nervous blonde had begun to blossom and was a popular face at the Leaky Cauldron, and it was rumoured that even old Tom was fond of her. "You haven't been by in a while. Did you want some menus, or just the usual?"
Hermione blinked. "Uh-" She looked at Jasmine uncertainly.
The other witch smiled. "My usual sounds brilliant, thanks." Hermione managed to avoid reacting as Jasmine's London accent suddenly returned in force. Instead she and Ron agreed, and Hannah smiled brightly. She hustled off to fill their order.
Once she was out of earshot, Jasmine leaned forward. "What's my usual?"
Ron snorted. Hermione opted to be more useful. "Chicken fingers and chips, and a butterbeer. And that was Hannah Abbott, she was a Hufflepuff in our year."
Hannah soon returned to deliver their butterbeers and Hermione's water, and the brown-haired witch was amazed at how glibly Jasmine chatted up their former schoolmate, asking how she had been and if there was any news to share. The girl was surprised and pleased at the attention... although Hannah hadn't fallen for the "Girl-Who-Won" tripe which had aggravated the Gryffindor icon so much, there was still a bit of hero worship there. Jasmine had directly saved her life during the Battle of Hogwarts, after all, and the blonde would remember it even if her friend didn't.
"You're looking really good, Jas!" Hannah gushed.
"Thank you," she replied with a smile. "I took some time to myself while in Egypt." Hermione choked on her water.
"I'd love to hear about it sometime!" Hannah wore a pair of tiny bells as earrings, and one jangled to catch her attention. "Oh! Your food is ready. Be right back!"
In short order their meals were placed in front of them. Jasmine had her chicken fingers, Ron had his typical fish and chips, while Hermione had opted for a less artery-hardening sandwich and salad. Hannah beamed at them and left them to eat.
Ron dug into his meal with his typical gusto, drawing an astonished look from Jasmine and a quiet sigh from his fiancee. The two met gazes and - like so many times at Hogwarts - there was a moment of shared amusement at the male of their trio. Hermione grinned and looked to her sandwich. The three ate without talking, Jasmine quietly and elegantly and Ron… not. While she was sure she couldn't approach her friend's practiced grace, Hermione hoped she came down closer to her end of the scale than her fiance. Still, she was marrying him, and she couldn't claim she didn't know what she was getting into.
She was beginning to regret rushing out the door… she hadn't taken the time to tie back her hair, and she kept needing to push back handfuls of honey-brown locks every time she bowed her head to take a bite. She was glad she hadn't ordered the soup. Though Jasmine let her bangs loose, she didn't seem to be having the same problems. Hermione watched her surreptitiously... figuring if nothing else she could learn some comportment from the ancient member of their group. Jasmine's meal didn't require a knife, but the witch held it anyway, her thumb rubbing at a stain on the silverware - a stain that certainly wouldn't have appeared on any of the cutlery at the Shahzadeh.
Seeing this caused Hermione to actually pause, a fork full of salad halfway to her mouth as she stared. Oh my God, she thought... she still does the polishing thing.
She doubted anyone else had noticed the nervous tic, not even Ron. But Jasmine was Hermione's best friend, her first friend. Before that day at Hogwarts, when the raven-haired girl had defended her from both Ron's insensitive remarks and the swinging club of a troll, the bookish witch couldn't have said what a proper friendship was supposed to be like. Having gotten her first taste at the genuine article, she'd done what she always did when confronted with something new: she studied it to death.
She was determined to be the very best friend she could possibly be, so she'd read Thoreau, books on psychology owled to her by her parents, and even plowed through her copy of the Lord of the Rings again, thinking to be inspired by Frodo and Sam (the fact that the Headmaster looked like Gandalf helped, too).
And so it was Hermione Granger, social misfit, who was the first person to realize that the saviour of the wizarding world, the Girl-Who-Lived, was emotionally crippled.
The Dursleys punished anything except quiet obedience, and delighted at provoking Jasmine so they'd have an excuse to punish her. The young girl had learned to repress everything… she treated being happy like it was a sin, and hid her anger until it built up to an explosion of shouting, tears, or spellfire.
The only time that wretched family would leave her alone - when they'd let her out of that thrice-damned cupboard that Jasmine thought she didn't know about - was when she was doing chores… and so those chores became her escape. When she was sad, worried, or lonely, she would sweep the floors or do dishes. At Hogwarts, where the house-elves took care of such things, she would pack and repack her trunk or clean her broomstick, straw by meticulous straw. During a meal, if she was upset, no silverware was safe… by the time the horcrux hunt was done, the forks and knives in their tent gleamed brightly enough to make a house-elf cry.
Jasmine… nested.
Hermione was often glad that nobody - perhaps not even Jasmine - knew how easily the dark-haired witch could have taken another path to deal with the cruelties of her upbringing… one more similar to Voldemort's. Instead she'd chosen cleaning over cruelty, endless martyrdom over murder. And the entirety of recorded history later, she still nursed the dischords drilled into her by three awful wastes of oxygen in Surrey. Hermione felt an urge to go back to the Dursleys and hex them into pudding, yet she was glad that she still had that one insight, that tiny window into what her friend was feeling.
"Hermione? Is something wrong?"
She blinked, realizing her staring had caught Jasmine's attention. She blushed. "No, no," she said quickly, covering with a rueful shrug. "I just realized… well, this isn't exactly the Shahzadeh."
"Well, I should hope not. I'd like to think my place offers a unique experience. Speaking of which, did you like it?"
"Oh, it was amazing! And the waiter was wonderful, he even put together a platter so we could try a little of everything…"
"Really, Ron… your brothers aren't going to steal your food and neither are we. You can slow down and enjoy it."
Hermione giggled while her fiance groaned. The sound caught the attention of the odd passerby as they stood outside the door to the Leaky Cauldron, zipping up their jackets. It was barely ten degrees, and dark clouds overhead promised the possibility of rain later. Had she not been a witch and perfectly capable of conjuring an umbrella if needed, she would have been worried.
They'd finished their meal and paid Hannah, promising to visit again soon before the blonde waitress had been forced to dash away to help deal with the lunch rush. Hard work and good cheer... a Hufflepuff's element. Now they stood outside the Cauldron, deciding what to do next. Jasmine was more relaxed and casual, and that did much to ease the minds of the couple.
It hadn't occurred to Hermione that maybe the reason Ron ate so fast was because he was used to competing with six siblings for food… maybe she should ease up on him a bit. Still, it was a bad habit. "If you can get him to chew, you'll have my eternal gratitude."
Jasmine cast a smirk over her shoulder as she looked out on the Alley. "Hey, he's your fixer-upper."
"'Fixer-upper'!" Ron sputtered.
"I know, I know. At least I've got a while to work on him," she sighed. She hugged the tall redhead's arm to let him know she was only teasing. "I need to get some money before we visit the apothecary."
As the economic center of wizarding Britain, Diagon Alley had recovered quickly from the chaos of the war. But here and there was still the odd shop that was a burnt-out husk, or one that was intact but dusty and abandoned because of the death of the owner. Hermione still remembered that first day when Professor McGonagall had escorted the wide-eyed little muggleborn and her bewildered parents to the Alley, introducing them to the insanity and wonder of the magical world. Though Diagon Alley was still quieter than it had been, it was getting better, and with any luck there would be many more muggleborn children getting the chance to experience it.
The three received sideways looks as they walked through the Alley. That in itself wasn't unusual - even Hermione and Ron had their own reputations now, and for all his jealousy when he was younger, Ron had quickly grasped why Jasmine hated her fame… wizarding folk had poor sense of decorum or personal space. And no matter what else had happened Jasmine was still Jasmine. Before her brief disappearance from the wizarding world, the rude staring had begun to wane, much to the trio's relief. But dropping out of everyone's view for four months - along with the ridiculous speculation by both the Prophet and Witches Weekly - had revived everyone's interest. The three ignored the eyes that followed them as they walked in the direction of Gringotts.
They approached the steps with its foreboding goblin guards and threatening inscription. The damage from their ill-fated burglary had long since been repaired, and there was no sign that a dragon had rampaged through the lobby. Though Hermione hadn't been happy that goblins had died during the recovery of Hufflepuff's cup, she was realistic enough to realize it had been necessary… and the fact that there were none left to identify the intruders certainly made things easier. She was always nervous when she visited the bank, as though one of the guards would recognize her and those horrible looking pikes would be pointed at her. Before Egypt, Jasmine had admitted to feeling the same way.
She was standing on the first of the steps when she realized that only Ron was beside her; Jasmine had halted in the middle of the street several strides away. "Jas?"
The other woman was looking at the building with a gaze that was definitely frosty. Then she blinked and looked at them with a smile that didn't look forced. "I'll just wait here, if you don't mind."
Hermione glanced back at the bank - at the goblins, and remembered. It was a topic they'd avoided so successfully that she'd forgotten it completely. "Jas, you… I know you have a history with them, but that was centuries ago…"
The older witch discarded the pasted smile and her expression went flat. "Some things aren't forgotten, or forgiven, Hermione." Her attitude had shifted again, showing less of the girl who'd come to visit them and more of the woman who'd escorted them from the tomb.
Ron looked on, confused, as Hermione held out her hands. "But… you won, didn't you? Why would you still hate them after so long?"
Jasmine laughed, though there was no humour in it. "You think I'm the one carrying a grudge? No, Hermione, it's the other way around." Her voice was pitched not to carry. "The goblins have declared a blood feud against Muirgen. They are all - all - honour-bound to attempt to kill me if they should spot me." Her eyes flicked up to the pair of goblin guards on either side of the entrance to the bank. "They probably wouldn't recognize me, but I'd rather not risk it."
Once upon a time Hermione would have pushed for Jasmine and the goblins to talk out their differences and realize the past was the past. She wasn't that naive anymore. But still… "Why? Why, after so long?"
If nothing else, Jasmine at least looked rueful rather than contemptuous. "Goblins don't deal with losing very well at the best of times. I killed hundreds of them outside Hogsmeade, and hundreds more afterward." And there it was… the 'k' word. The admission that her hands had blood on them, something else Hermione had avoided thinking about. "But beyond that, Hermione, I broke them. They bet too much on Hogsmeade, and it ruined them. For all the 'rebellions' afterward, they can't reasonably offer a threat to the wizarding world anymore. They've essentially been subjugated… and they blame me for that." She shrugged. "It's not the outcome I wanted, but it's the outcome I got. Ita sit."
She had no response, and not just because she'd never expected the girl who'd barely gotten Acceptables in Arithmancy to quote Latin to her. Ron tugged on her arm. "Come on, 'Mione. Let's just get it done with, there's no point worrying over it now." Reluctantly she nodded, following and leaving their third member to wait outside.
They'd barely taken three steps when Jasmine's voice called to them. "Ron? Hermione?" They paused, looking back at her. "I remember the dragon," she said, not elaborating, but they both knew what she was referring to. "Be careful."
"No dragon here, Jas," Ron answered for them both. He wasn't as obtuse as he'd been as a boy. "Nothing here to worry about."
"That's good," Jasmine replied. Her voice was slightly different, a faint archaic accent tinging her words. "For their sake."
Hermione would blame their conversation for the darker feeling of Gringotts. Less sun seemed to leak in through the skylight, the torches seemed dimmer, and the goblins more sinister. When she presented her vault key to the teller, it was all she could do not to cower under his normal suspicious gaze, her hand drifting toward her wand.
She scolded herself. Stop! They haven't done anything! You're letting Jasmine's paranoia get to you. Nonetheless, for the first time she was glad that the goblin tram was so fast, as it made the trip to and from the vault so much quicker. Though the vault she and Ron had opened together would never be as piled high as the Potter vault, the tiny hoard inside was healthy enough... mostly thanks to bursaries from the Ministry and rewards and well-wishes from the wizarding populace (who were glad enough to show their support now that the danger was long past, she thought bitterly). Under her escorting goblin's watch it was difficult to resist the urge to just carelessly shovel an armful of coins into her charmed handbag, just to be able to leave that much faster.
It was that nervousness, as well as shame at what she considered unfair persecution, that soured her mood as she and Ron emerged from Gringotts to find Jasmine waiting patiently across the street. "Okay, we're done. Let's go." Before Jasmine or Ron could react she was already walking toward the apothecary, ignoring the look the two shared behind her.
They fell into step on either side of her; bracketing her in companionship in a way that made her think of easier times. Like the trips to Hogsmeade before Voldemort had returned, when Sirius was alive and everything was a little brighter and more innocent.
It was hard to stay annoyed when remembering those days, especially when Jasmine walked closer and leaned in to speak quietly. "It wasn't my intention to burden you with my prejudices, Hermione."
She sighed. "It's fine."
"No, it's not. I have a lot of baggage, and it's not fair to put any of it on you. My problems are my problems, and I'll deal with them myself."
Hermione halted right there in the middle of the street, turning on the other witch. "Don't you ever say that again."
Jasmine blinked. Ron, having gotten caught in arguments between the two girls before, was wisely keeping his mouth shut. "Hermione-"
"I know you had to deal with so much, so long, by yourself... but we weren't there. Now we are! We're here, and you're here, and we help each other! That's the way it was before and that's the way it will be! Get me?" Somewhere in the back of her head, the voice that always deferred to authority managed a panicked squeak: You're scolding Morgana! She'd learned years beforehand to tame that voice, but her voice quivered a bit as she said, "No more running off by yourself."
Jasmine seemed caught off-guard, and the younger witch wondered how often that actually happened. "I…" She paused. "You've been holding that in for weeks, haven't you?"
Hermione wilted. "Ah… maybe." She thought a moment, and then amended, "Years. You take too much onto yourself, Jasmine. You always have."
She expected Jasmine to point out that not only was she more powerful than they were, she was ridiculously more experienced as well. It was ludicrous to think that the woman who'd trained Merlin needed a helping hand from two children barely out of Hogwarts. But the words never came; instead Jasmine merely looked at her, emerald eyes wide.
"Okay," she said, smiling softly. "No more running off by myself." The words, simple enough, were heaped with meaning.
She turned and hooked an arm around Hermione's own. "Now, we were headed to the apothecary? Are we picking up almond oil? Your hair starts to fluff when you get angry."
The younger witch squawked in protest, a traitorous hand automatically going to the top of her head. "It does not!"
"See? Right there. You're like a cat."
Hermione sputtered indignantly as Jasmine pulled her along. Ron followed, well-used to being lead along by the two girls. Once upon a time it'd insulted his pride, until Jasmine had told him she felt safer with him guarding her back (it also helped that, as the two girls grew older and more attractive, the comments from the Gryffindor boys' dorm had changed from mocking to envious). It'd taken the locket horcrux to shake his faith after that, and both girls had forgiven him for it, though he sometimes still felt shame.
Which wasn't to say that he wasn't still easy to distract. "Oh, hey! Jas, check it out!" He grabbed her elbow and pointed. "The quidditch shop has the new ICW-certified gear… let's go look!"
Jasmine's eyes flicked down to where he'd unthinkingly grabbed her out of habit. Far from insult, Hermione watched wonder and delight play across her friend's face so quickly that if she'd been looking away she'd have missed it. Then Jasmine was back to her normal pleasant interest. "Of course. Hermione?"
She made a show of rolling her eyes. "No, I'll let you two bond over chasing a golden golfball while being hunted by a cannonball forty feet in the air, just like always. Meet me at Slug and Jiggers?"
They nodded assent and walked off in the direction of the shop, Ron commenting eagerly about the new safety charms that were being applied to the newest Quidditch gear, and Jasmine listening with interest. Hermione smiled and turned to walk the short distance to the apothecary.
The shop stank, as always: the smell of rot mixing with the pungent odour of bubotuber pus and mustiness of the cauldron of newt eyes. Once upon a time, it'd made her eyes water. Time and familiarity had taken the edge off, and thank goodness for freshening charms. She nodded politely toward the grey-haired shopkeeper - she'd never figured out if he was Slug or Jigger - then walked a slow circuit around the shelves full of jars and examining the bins of dry ingredients along the walls.
She had a notepad with the ingredients she needed, and she checked the prices of the items against what she could order via owl-post from the continent. It was good to see prices dropping… with Voldemort gone, and the rise of a British magical government widely considered to be an improvement upon the old, trade with other magical nations was booming. Where once it made sense to order from out-of-country, now the shopkeepers could get items imported themselves cheaply enough that it wasn't worth the bother.
Hermione was hemming and hawing over a vial of crystallized huron sap when the bell over the door rang. She looked up to see Jasmine walk in. The dark-haired woman did a cautious survey of the shop, much like when they entered the Cauldron. Her eyes found Hermione and she smiled as she walked over. The odor of the place didn't seem to bother her.
"That was quick. Where's Ron?"
"Buying some new gloves and groin protection. I helped him with the gloves but told him he was on his own for the other piece. What have you got there?"
She showed her basket. "Just ingredients for Pepper-Up potions and some muscle-menders. Shacklebolt set the new standards for Auror trainees, and they're not playing about. Ron is a wreck half the time when he comes home."
Jasmine pursed her lips disapprovingly. "If they're going to be working him that hard they should be supplying the potions to put him back together. How does he feel about this?"
Hermione shrugged. "Proud, honestly. Barely out of Hogwarts and he's keeping up with all the veterans, and they weren't slouches in the first place if they survived the war. It's done wonders for his self-confidence. And as for the potions… well, Kingsley might be cleaning house and pulling standards back up, but I still make better potions than they do." Jasmine nodded, as if Hermione had just declared that the sky was blue, water was wet, and Fudge was stupid. She'd always had faith in the other witch's abilities, and had said so often, but now it wasn't just Jasmine, no matter that they were all pretending otherwise. She felt her cheeks heat from the implicit praise.
The older witch looked around. "I might as well get some things while I'm here, too. I usually grow my own herbs, but I don't have the greenhouses set up yet. The animal and insect reagents are a pain anyway."
The two women browsed the shop, with Hermione doing most of the actual shopping - carefully crossing each item off her list - and Jasmine tossing the occasional reagent into the basket for herself. Before long they wandered up to the counter where the shopkeeper waited patiently. Hermione laid out the jars and small sacks of ingredients on the counter as he placed them on a scale and tallied the costs.
As he reached for Hermione's packet of peppermint leaves, Jasmine held up a hand to stall him. "Hold up a moment," she said, sporting her London accent again. It wasn't exactly the same accent she'd had before Egypt, but Hermione doubted anyone but her closest friends would notice. "D'you have any fermented peppermint in the back?"
His bushy grey eyebrows lifted. "Fermented? Possibly. Is this for Pepper-Up potions?" Jasmine nodded. "Odd, I didn't think anyone brewed them that way anymore. Just a moment, I'll check."
"Thanks. Oh, and maybe you could find some fresh spangled beetle shells while you're back there? The ones in your box here are so dulled they've obviously been sitting there forever."
Hermione leaned over as the man shuffled off into the back room with a grumble. "Fermented? What's wrong with fresh leaves?"
"Nothing. Fermented is just better. You can get away with two-thirds the dose, and you won't crash half as hard when it wears off."
"Then why don't we learn that in Potions?"
"Because it takes too long to ferment them for the sake of a second-year Potions recipe. Fresh is good enough most of the time. But if you have the choice, go for the fermented."
It was a gift, she knew... a small bit of trivia to make up for offending her earlier. "Can you show me how to ferment them myself? Obviously I can't count on the supply in the apothecaries."
Black locks shifted as she nodded. "Of course. There's not much to it."
Hermione smiled, pleased with the offer, as she arranged her purchases on the counter, double-checking her list. Jasmine watched as she did so, but suddenly her expression went oddly blank. She reached forward and picked up the small jar of mugwort the younger witch had just shifted, and green eyes played over the other ingredients, performing some mental arithmetic.
"How often does he need them?" she asked softly.
Hermione looked up, confused. "Pardon?"
"The Dreamless Sleep potions. How often does he need them?"
She could feel the blood draining from her face. "I… He… How?"
Jasmine put down the jar and turned to face her. Her face was resolute but understanding. "I've brewed enough Dreamless to fill the Black Lake, Hermione… I know the reagents. I know the Weasleys suffered badly during the war, so he's the more likely one to have nightmares. I just want to know how often he needs it." Her eyes widened for a brief moment. "You're not using it with the Pepper-Up, are you?"
"No, we… you can do that?"
She hesitated, then nodded reluctantly... as if she didn't want to confirm what she'd just said. "The potions are synergistic, not antagonistic like you might think. A sip of Pepper-Up before the Dreamless will amplify the effects… your thoughts won't wander even once you've woken up. It can be a way of… avoiding unpleasant thoughts, just like it helps you avoid unpleasant dreams. You gotta get up to get down," she said softly.
"How do you know that?" Jasmine looked at her, but didn't answer. "Ron… he… Fred was killed in front of us," she said. Her voice shook a little at remembering that awful moment, a wound upon the Weasley family that they'd still not recovered from, and a loss she was sure had helped push Jasmine toward her reckless sacrifice hours later. "We all lost friends, but Fred was Ron's brother. We were a mess, all three of us… I think after the war we were going through a gallon of Dreamless a week. But we helped each other. We'd skip taking it all together, and if one of us had… problems, we'd all be there. It made it a lot easier to do without, until we didn't need it anymore. But Ron always had the hardest time."
She flushed, realizing her next words would sound accusing. "When you disappeared in the tomb, when we thought you were dead - even if just for a few minutes - it made him remember things he didn't want to. And then…"
Jasmine wilted… the barest of motions, but ever since she'd walked back into their apartment Hermione had been hypersensitive to her cues. "And then I ran off."
Oh, sod it! She reached over and hugged the other witch. Jasmine twitched, obviously taken by surprise… but she didn't fight the embrace, and after a moment she lifted an arm to return the affection. "It's okay," Hermione said. "You didn't know. And he's better, really… he was doing without already, and then you owled, and it got that much better."
She shrugged without letting go. "I'm just brewing this batch because he can't go without sleep while he's training, so we always keep a little bit on hand." Her face flushed pink. "Please don't tell anyone. If the Aurors got it in their heads that he was dependent…"
"I haven't been 'chummy' with the Ministry in centuries, Hermione. If you say it's under control, I believe you."
Even before Egypt, Jasmine had never taken Hermione's words as gospel so easily. That was a change she could live with. She gave her another squeeze and then stepped away just as the shopkeeper re-emerged from the back of the shop carrying a large jar and a small cloth sack.
The two had just finished paying for their purchases when the door chimes jangled as Ron stepped inside. His nose wrinkled as the smell of the shop hit him. "Ugh."
"You certainly took a while," Jasmine remarked. "Surely it doesn't take that long to buy a cup. Unless you were trying to convince the shopkeepers that you needed the extra-extra-large one?"
"A right laugh, you are," he replied as he chewed on something. "I'll have you know I just stopped by Sugarplum's for a couple of Chocolate Frogs. You want one?"
"In here? Bletch, no."
"Outside, obviously!"
Hermione could see the shopkeeper getting annoyed at them. "Yes, let's go outside." She carefully tucked their purchases into her expanded satchel. Encouraged by the hug earlier, she hooked her arm around Jasmine's and did the same with Ron, leading them all outside. Once they were well away from the apothecary, Jasmine snapped her fingers again, letting the tiny wind carry away the last of the rank that clung to their clothes. At Hermione's begging look she rolled her eyes, explaining the charm as Ron handed out the Chocolate Frogs. She used her index finger in place of a wand as she demonstrated the somatic gestures.
Come to think of it, she hadn't seen Jasmine draw her wand even once. She obviously wasn't carrying her staff… did she even have a wand anymore?
They ate the treats, silent except for Hermione's repeated incanting, the gentle whirlwind sweeping over them again and again. Ron squawked in offence as the charm cleaned the chocolate off his fingers before he could lick it away. All he got in return was a grin from his fiancee and a raised eyebrow from Jasmine, so he rolled his eyes and pulled out the collectible card from the tiny confection box.
"It figures," he laughed as he examined the card, holding it up. "It's the Morgana card! D'you realize when the Jasmine Potter card comes out next year, technically you'll have two cards?"
"Joy," she replied dryly.
"Oh, come on… it's brilliant! Every little witch has at least one Morgana card, and the Jasmine card'll probably be just as popular-"
"More little girls idealizing an illusion," Jasmine said, and this time there was no mistaking the bite in her voice. "Carefully washed and sanitized."
"I-" He paused. "I know this isn't you, Jas, not really. I mean, they got your hair wrong, and even the staff. They call you a dark witch, too, which is bollocks-"
"No," she interrupted quietly. She put the last piece of chocolate frog in her mouth and chewed. "That part is accurate."
The three were cast into another silence, Ron and Hermione looking at each other helplessly. "It was a different time-" Hermione began.
"I know more dark magic than Riddle could have ever dreamed of," Jasmine said bluntly. "I have killed and cursed and conquered. Egypt was not born purely from diplomacy and the goblins weren't defeated with stunners. I have spilled more blood than you could possibly imagine. All the time in the world won't change that."
She refused to look at them, as if waiting for their anger or rejection. Once upon a time she might have received it, but Hermione wasn't so naive anymore, nor were her hands pristine. Jasmine hadn't judged when her friend had torn away her own parents' memories and identities, and she'd been there for her when it had come time to undo that sin… holding her hand when her mother and father had been so angry it seemed like they'd have been happier forgetting they had a daughter after all.
"You can tell us, Jasmine. I-If you want to. We'll understand," she said.
"Confession being good for the soul?"
"No," she answered sternly. "But talking with people who love you is."
The dark-haired witch closed her eyes briefly, as if younger woman's words had hurt. But when they opened again, they showed the same quiet joy and relief that Hermione'd glimpsed when Ron had grabbed Jasmine's elbow. "Maybe someday. Thank you."
Though he'd matured vastly from the little boy he'd been, Ron was still uncomfortable with emotional moments. "So… are you really an animagus?" he asked, trying to change the topic.
"No. I did the ritual to find out my form, but I didn't like it, so I never bothered to go on and master the self-transfiguration."
"What was your form?" He waved his hands. "If you want to say. It's fine if you don't."
"A bird," she said, not elaborating. "I would have been a bird."
They wandered around the Alley for another hour, stopping in whatever shops caught their fancy. Finally, Jasmine paused and held out a hand, and a wandless Tempus lit the air above her palm. Hermione blinked, surprised to see that it was already late into the afternoon.
She shook her hand, and the illusionary clock drifted away as a fading golden mist as she looked at them. "I have to go," the dark-haired witch said regretfully. "There's a shipment of boxes due at the manor. But I'm glad we did this. Thanks for bringing me along."
"Will you come over next Saturday?" Hermione asked tentatively.
Jasmine opened her mouth, then hesitated just long enough to make Hermione worry. Then she lifted an elegantly-shaped eyebrow. "I've got a better idea. Ron, what is your family doing next week? Saturday evening?"
The question caught the redhead off-guard. "Uh… I haven't heard of anything in particular. Why?"
"How would you all like to come over to my place for dinner and wine? You could meet Geoffrey and Miranda and see the manor. The main danger would be losing Hermione in the library."
"Dinner?" Ron said. His buttons were easy to push.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Another meal? Not everything has to center around food, you know."
Jasmine and Ron blinked at each other, and then gave her duplicate confused looks.
"I'm afraid I don't understand."
"Yeah, you lost me, too, Herm."
She groaned, and gave her boyfriend a shove. "She disappears for a while and when she's back she's turned into you!"
"Hey!" the two chorused in unison. Then they stared at each other. Hermione giggled.
Jasmine gave her a wry look. "The same meals day after day for thousands of years gets really, really boring, 'Mione," she said, with a smile to show it wasn't a rebuke. "Did you know that the incredible array of foods and flavours we get to experience now would have been completely incomprehensible to a muggle even a century ago? Now, the three of us could walk out the front of the Cauldron and find food from any culture on the planet within a half hour. One of the few pleasures I've been able to carry with me everywhere has been the love of a tasty meal." She poked Ron in the ribs. "Tasty, which requires tasting, Ronald!"
"Hey! Stop that!"
"I'm sorry I drove your mother 'spare'... so let me make it up to you. Come over, let me feed you and show you my home. Oscar Wilde said you can forgive anyone over a good meal… even family. And before you ask: no, I didn't get a chance to meet him. I was in China in the late 1800s."
The couple glanced at each other, but there was really no thinking needed. "I'll ask everyone. Is it okay if Fleur comes along?"
"If she's been included already, sure."
"It's a date, then," Hermione said. She grinned wryly. "Another dinner date. I'm going to get fat hanging around you."
"Come now, everything I serve is fresh and healthy, none of this high fructose nonsense."
"High froo-toes what?" Ron asked.
"Nevermind. It was good to spend the day with both of you. I'll owl you and you can let me know what your family says about the visit, okay?"
"That sounds wonderful," Hermione replied. "We'll talk to you soon." Jasmine nodded, and then retreated under their curious eyes to a secluded corner just out of sight from the rest of the alley.
"Uh… Jas? The apparition point is over by the floo." Diagon Alley had always had numerous holes in its Anti-Apparition and Anti-Disapparition wards. Everyone had known about them, and up until the war nobody had cared. But after Voldemort's reign of terror the Ministry had doubled-down on renewing the wards, closing the holes and making sure people only entered and left at the authorized places. The shopkeepers certainly hadn't minded since it increased foot traffic through the alley.
"I know," Jasmine replied. She gave them a smirk. "But being me has its privileges." She spun on the spot and disappeared, not with the crack of normal apparition but with a quiet pop like that of a house-elf.
Hermione's jaw dropped.
"Well, she's loosened up a lot. That's good, right?" Ron asked obliviously.
She shook her head, not particularly surprised that he wouldn't notice - or didn't care - that Jasmine was going about apparating where it shouldn't have been possible. "Yeah." She hugged his arm. "She was worried about you."
He gave her a confused look. "About me? Why?"
"Just worried. Anyway, it looks like we have another dinner date to plan for."
"Yeah." He smiled broadly. "I like this new Jasmine."
She could only roll her eyes. She tugged him in the direction of the floo. "Come on, let's go tell your family. And warn George before he gets any ideas."
A nervous and eager Weasley family went about getting ready that Saturday. Hermione sat quietly in the kitchen of the Burrow, nursing a cup of tea while the typical redheaded chaos roiled around her. It reminded her so much of the mornings when the clan would be getting ready for the train to Hogwarts, all madness and eagerness. Happier times, and hopefully a good sign of things to come.
"Mum, have you seen my pendant?"
"It should be in your jewelry box, Ginny dear. George! Stop right there! Turn out your pockets."
"Blimey, Mum, I'm a grown man-"
"Turn out your pockets. I don't know what kind of mischief you have planned, Mister `Grown Man', but tonight is not the night for it!"
"Muuuuum! It's not there!"
"Just a moment, Ginny! Arthur, deal with your grown son."
Hermione snorted into her tea. Beside her, Fleur rolled her eyes as she held her own cup, sipping daintily as she waited patiently for Bill to return from Andromeda's home. The widow had agreed to babysit Victoire overnight if need be, a simple addition to her care of young Teddy.
The younger witch suspected Fleur was as nervous as the rest of them, she just hid it better. It was a bit more obvious with the others: Percy waited patiently out in the living room, having put on his best robes almost at the crack of dawn… now all he could do was sit in the worn rocking chair, jiggling his leg and worrying his fingers. He didn't even complain as Ron sat nearby, listening to the Wizarding Wireless Network. Ginny frantically searched for the pendant Jasmine had given her one Christmas, while Arthur readjusted his tie for the sixteenth time. Charlie would not be attending, as he was tending to a brooding dragon mother deep in the Romanian forests - it'd taken three days just for the owl to find him. But he'd demanded that someone let him know how the evening went.
Ron and Hermione were the calmest of all of them, having already met with the woman in question. Hermione knew they were all struggling with the same perplexity they were... reconciling the girl they knew with the woman she'd become, the sheer unbelievability of the story. Nothing would make it better until they actually met and spoke with her. They believed what Ron and Hermione said, but still… some things a person had to see for themselves.
It was interesting to watch the various ways the Weasleys were anticipating the meeting. Percy was hung up on the thought that he was about to meet Morgana (he was also pedantically calling her Morgan, which made both Ron and George snort and roll their eyes), and Hermione worried that he'd forget he was also talking to Jasmine. Meanwhile George seemed to disregard Jasmine's other names completely, and Hermione wondered what can of worms the prankster would open if he tried one of his jokes on the most powerful sorceress in history. Ginny's hero-worship - which had been under control for so long - had gone back into overdrive.
Hermione was mostly worried about Molly. Jasmine had been effectively an adopted daughter to the Weasleys, and they treated her like it. Molly was a smothering and overbearing mother, and the young orphan had yearned for every moment of it. But Jasmine wasn't that lonely, abused little girl anymore, starving for parental affection… she'd seen generations born and die. There was no telling how she'd react if Molly was… well, Molly.
"I'm going to give that girl a piece of my mind," the Weasley matriarch had grumbled at one point. "Running off and playing hide and seek from us!"
"Mom, please don't," Ron begged. "She'll send you to stand in the corner!" His mother had only shaken her head, thinking he was kidding.
The kitchen fireplace flared and Bill stepped out, casting a quick cleaning charm over himself before Hermione could (she nearly had Jasmine's wandless cleaning charm down, and a person couldn't walk past her without it being cast on them). Fleur set down her cup. "'ow is she?"
He smiled and leaned down to peck his wife on the cheek. "She's fine. Andromeda's giving her a bottle right now and then she'll lay her down for a nap. Poor Teddy doesn't know what to make of the whole business."
Molly stepped into the kitchen, wearing her best dress and her favourite pearls. Her dress was new, as the older woman had lost weight during the war and as she grieved afterward… she wasn't as plump as she had been, and Hermione found that a bit sad. Her hair - once a rich red despite her age - was now shot through and through with white, and her face was was burdened with far more lines than just three years beforehand. But she was still very much in charge in the Burrow.
"Oh, Bill, good. We should be all ready to go," she said, alternating back and forth between speaking pleasantly in the kitchen and shouting in the living room. "We're leaving! Come on, now! Just leave your cups, dears, I'll clean it up when we get back. 'Now' means now!" She looked to Hermione and then to Ron as the Weasley men and Ginny filed into the kitchen. "We're supposed to meet her at the Leaky Cauldron?"
"We'll meet her driver in front of the Leaky Cauldron," Hermione corrected. "That's what she said in her letter, anyway. There'll probably be a limousine there, I'm guessing."
Arthur perked up. "A limousine? Isn't that a fancy muggle automobile?"
"No taking it apart, Arthur," Molly admonished before Hermione could answer. "Such a fuss. Why couldn't we just floo there?"
She shrugged. "She probably doesn't have her home hooked up. It took us forever to get her to connect her flat even before all this, remember?"
"Well, if this is the way, then let's be off."
The family made their way through the fireplace to the Diagon Alley with practiced efficiency. They nodded politely to Tom as they made their way through the Cauldron, and Hermione waved to Hannah. Soon the entire clan was standing awkwardly in front of the tavern, watching muggles striding by as they went about their Saturday afternoon errands.
George looked around. "Now what?"
"Are we early?" Bill asked.
"No, we're actually right on time," Hermione said, not commenting on what a remarkable thing that was for the family. "We just… oh! There!"
Just across the street a black limousine pulled over and parked just behind a waiting taxi. After a moment a man in a black suit emerged from the driver's side. The Weasleys tentatively followed Hermione as she carefully crossed the street and approached the limo. The man noticed them and waved as they came closer.
He was, Hermione decided, the largest man she'd ever seen short of Hagrid… he was as tall as Bill and even broader across the chest than Charlie. The sleeves of his black suit seemed to strain to contain his arms, and his nose had the slightest of crooks in it, showing it had been broken at least once in the past. He was clean shaven, and when he adjusted his cap they saw that he kept his light brown hair at a military length… perhaps in sober recognition of his hairline, which was in full retreat. The man had a rough edge to him, but despite that he smiled at them in an open and friendly manner.
"Hello!" he greeted in an American accent. "Would you be the Weasley family?"
"We are," Arthur replied.
"Then hello again," he replied. "I'm sorry I'm late… I'm still getting used to driving around in London. I'm Geoffrey, and I'll be your driver tonight. Lady Fakharani- er, pardon, Lady Potter, has sent me to escort you to her home. It shouldn't be too long a drive, but did you need anything before we set off?"
"N-No, we're fine," Arthur replied, wide-eyed. "We're ready to go if you are."
"Perfect. If you'll allow me?" He opened the rear door to the limousine to allow them entrance. One by one they entered, only Fleur demonstrating any familiarity with the plush vehicle. The interior was all black leather, with soft, comfortable seats in front and in a long bench along the side across from a small bar. Although the vehicle itself wasn't that large, it had obviously been subjected to an expansion charm; there was room enough for the entire family. After they had all been seated, Geoffrey shut the door and moved around to enter the driver's seat. A small window between the front and the rear slid down, and he watched them via the vehicle's rear-view mirror.
"Everyone comfortable? Excellent. Off we go." He slid the limo into gear.
The streets and buildings coasted by as they drove. Hermione watched the Weasleys marvel at their surroundings; particularly Arthur, who was fascinated by the bar fridge. The last time she'd been in a limo herself was when she was only nine, traveling with her parents to a fancy conference and dinner for the dentists of London. Fleur, as a diplomat's daughter, looked as though she'd been riding in them all her life… which, of course, she probably had; the French Ministry didn't use carriages and pegasi for everything.
The trip was pleasant and comfortable. Geoffrey chatted with them to help pass the time, mentioning that his wife, Miranda, would be the one cooking for them that night. That lead to him commenting that she was merely visiting from Canada, where their children were still finishing out the school year. Revealing himself as a family man won Arthur and Molly over immediately, and they talked pleasantly about muggle schooling.
"Would they be expected to work for Jasmine?" Hermione asked cautiously.
Geoffrey glanced at her in the rear-view mirror. "Only if they want to. There's no pressure or compulsion. My father became a civil engineer, for example, and my sister's a graphic designer in Vancouver. The Lady only wants us to work for her if we choose to, and she's very careful about that."
"Isn't that hard, keeping secrets from your family?"
"A little bit, but I can't imagine it's much worse than a muggleborn who has to hide her magic from her friends and extended family," he replied with a meaningful look. "No one in my family has ever had cause to complain about the Lady's treatment of us, so as far as they know my grandfather and I just chose to work for a very private, very old family that's always taken good care of its employees. And that's pretty much true."
"Are you really related to the Goyles here in the UK?" Ron asked. Around them, the rest of the Weasleys were listening intently.
"Ah… distantly. We split off from them in the mid-fifteen-hundreds or so." He squinted, remembering. "My grandfather knows the history a lot better than I do. And you can always ask the Lady."
"You don't much sound like the Goyles I know, if you don't mind my saying."
Geoffrey laughed. "I'll take that as a compliment. My line doesn't appear to have any magic, but we did walk away with the brains. I think we got the better end of the bargain. And certainly I have a better employer, rather than being bound to jackasses like the Malfoys." He coughed. "I… ah, shouldn't have said that. Sorry."
Ron laughed. "Mate, if you want to bash the Malfoys, you have the perfect audience."
Geoffrey was silent a moment as he accelerated, merging onto one of the main highways leading out of the city. The taller buildings of London slipped behind them. "Yes, the Lady has mentioned your family's rivalry with them."
"Why do you call her 'the Lady'?" Ginny suddenly asked.
"Because it drives her batty and I can get away with it," he replied with a grin. "But if you want to get technical, she is royalty."
Ginny's eyes were dinner plates. "Really?"
"Oh yes, though you'll have a hard time getting her to admit it. Originally recognized by King Arthur, and then again by King Henry the Second during the conflict with King William the First of Scotland. Henry was concerned that she would enter the war to support Scotland… at the time many people thought her lands were in the north, but more likely they were getting her confused with Hogwarts. Her proper title is Queen Morgan of Avalon."
The entire vehicle went silent; even Fleur was wide-eyed.
"May I ask a question, Geoffrey? And please, call me Arthur," Ron's father finally said.
"Of course, Arthur. What is it?"
"What is this used for?" he asked, holding up a wine key.
The rest of the trip took a good hour, Geoffrey navigating his way into the English countryside with the assistance of a GPS unit mounted to the dash of the limo. Their driver seemed embarrassed at its use, explaining that he'd yet to learn his way around England; Arthur was completely thrilled by it. Hermione had seen GPS units before (her father had bought one in Australia and was ridiculously proud of it) but kept her mouth shut and let Geoffrey field the numerous incredulous and sometimes inane questions from the Weasley head. The man proved that - quite unlike his distant cousins - he was not just dumb muscle, explaining the device well and even touching on the theory of triangulation.
Hermione enjoyed the comfortable ride, staring out the windows and watching the English countryside pass by. Beside her Ron was indulging in a bottle of club soda from the tiny fridge (he'd originally reached for a bottle of muggle beer that was also present, but a glare from Molly had made him reconsider). Fleur was dozing lightly, her cheek resting against Bill's shoulder. Molly was sitting as primly as she could, looking and probably feeling very out of place, turning periodic glares on George and Ginny when the pair would work together to annoy Percy between them.
Finally they found themselves rolling up the long entry drive to Jasmine's estate, a long and narrow road lined on each side with rows of tall willows. The trees were entering their winter hibernation, limp and plain in the overcast day, but the length and number of their branches promised an amazing display in the spring when it was time to bloom... Hermione vowed to visit then, one way or another. When the willows cleared to allow view of the manor itself, all of the Weasleys - except Fleur, of course - had their faces pressed to the windows.
Jasmine's home wasn't as large as the Malfoy or Longbottom estates, but it certainly wasn't small. Stone walls, light grey when they were set but dyed a light brown by time, stretched out into two wings on either side of the central hall. In front of the main door the drive looped around a topiary surrounded by a rich garden laid dormant for the winter. Grand windows stretched to either side, and thick ivy blanketed the front of the main and western wings, stubbornly resisting the gathering cold.
It was dignified, Hermione decided. In fact it reminded her a great deal of Longbottom Manor, with its mix of grandness and comfort. Malfoy Manor was larger and more ornate, but so much so that it seemed ostentatious. And the Malfoy home was dark… like the building itself had absorbed the ugliness of the people inside, tended by house elves who cared nothing for the place beyond making sure they weren't punished. Augusta Longbottom was so prim and forbidding that her Manor could have been the same way, but the place was softened, made more welcoming, by Neville's love of plants and his endless beautiful gardens.
Jasmine's manor (Or would that be "Morgana's" Manor? Hermione wondered) bore the same quality. Full of grace and dignity, but obviously cared for by people who didn't just live there, but loved their home… the cold exterior warmed from within.
Geoffrey pulled in front of the steps to the main door and turned off the engine. "And here we are, sirs and ladies. If you'll give me a moment…" He opened the door and stepped out.
Ron was reaching for the door handle when Fleur stopped him. "Non, non, Ronald. Allow Geoffrey, it iz part of his task."
She was right, as Geoffrey opened the door and came to attention beside it. "If you would?" he prompted, and one by one they all stepped out of the limo, until they were all standing in a confused mass in front of the manor... with the exception of Fleur, who had hooked her arm with Bill's, standing tall with her chin held high. The diplomat's daughter falling into old habits - Hermione found herself envious of the Veela. Ginny scowled, but more out of habit than honest feeling… Fleur had made her an aunt, after all, and that bought a lot of favour from the young redhead.
Their driver lead them up the steps and opened the door. And there, standing in the main foyer, was Jasmine, standing beside a slender woman whose immaculate white chef's outfit contrasted greatly with her coffee-coloured skin. The mistress of the house was clothed in beige slacks and an off-the-shoulder long-sleeved silk blouse the colour of blood; around her neck was a fine golden chain, bearing an impossibly delicate golden pendant in the shape of an Egyptian eye… Wadjet's eye, Hermione guessed, based on the way Bill's eyes widened slightly.
Jasmine smiled, her fingers pressed together in front of her. She hesitated, an action that would have gone unnoticed if not for everyone present watching her so intently. "Hello everyone." The ice finally broken, she allowed herself a small smile. "Welcome to my home. I'm sorry it took so long to have you out here. Moving took ages."
She'd barely finished speaking when Molly rushed forward, arms wide. Hermione would later be ashamed to have believed that Jasmine would react badly; instead she met the embrace, her smile never once wavering. The action broke the paralysis on the rest of them, and soon Jasmine was surrounded on all sides by redheads, chattering as one about the manor, the limo, and her clothes. When George made a show of bowing and greeting her as "My Lady" she shot a glare at Geoffrey, who looked utterly unrepentant.
"Jasmine…" Molly began, and Hermione felt everyone else tense. "What happened?" she finally asked, nearly in tears.
"I went on a trip," Jasmine answered. Her voice was firm with an authority she hadn't had before Egypt, but not cruel or dismissive. "I was gone for a while, but I'm back now. There's a lot to catch up on, but I'm not going anywhere… we'll have time."
Molly stared incredulously, struggling for words. Finally she settled for simply grabbing her now much older almost-daughter into another embrace.
When the women finally stepped apart, Jasmine gestured to the chef. "Everyone, I'd like you to meet Miranda. She'll be the one cooking for us tonight. You've met Geoffrey, of course. He takes care of my households, but Miranda runs my restaurants. You'll find out why very soon."
Miranda smiled at them in a friendly manner. She gestured to the right. "I hope the trip made you hungry, because supper is just about ready. Let's get you to the dining room."
She turned and began walking, and the Weasleys dutifully fell into step behind her in pairs. With the odd number of them Percy was left out, but Jasmine casually hooked her arm with his and pulled him forward to walk beside her, making the young man blush.
He had his chance to shine a moment later as they moved into a lavish dining room set just beside the main hall. The room was well-lit with electric chandeliers, and polished wood tapped lightly beneath their feet. Without being prompted Percy sat Jasmine at the head of the table and pushed in her chair, taking a seat for himself to her left… there was a touch of his old pompousness as he relished the chance to play the gentleman. Hermione had prepared Ron, so he did the same, seating her next to Percy and taking a seat to her left. The others followed their lead, with Arthur taking a spot at Jasmine's right hand and Molly beside him.
The entire family (again, excepting Fleur) was taken aback by the elegance of their surroundings. The table was large and varnished to a mirror-like sheen, so dark it was nearly black. The plates at each setting were ceramic, glazed with dyes which turned them a rich red and gold, and Hermione wondered if the Gryffindor colours were accidental. Reed baskets had been set here and there along the table, filled with soft rolls which filled the air with the aroma of fresh-baked bread, making her stomach growl in anticipation.
Miranda left to attend to the cooking food, and Geoffrey - having shed his chauffeur guise and slipping back into the role of butler - set about pouring them glasses of ice water.
Jasmine stood, and the entire family looked up at her with nervous regard. She looked back, opened her mouth, then paused as if reconsidering what she was about to say. She allowed a bit of a smirk to appear on her face. "I had a bit of a speech planned out, but somehow it doesn't feel appropriate now. So let me just say this: I'm very glad to have you here, finally. You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this.
"I'm sorry I… disappeared on you. I apologized to Ronald and Hermione, and now I'm apologizing to you. I thought the gift of a meal and an evening together was the least I could offer, and so here we are. Wine and truth… in vino veritas.
"I don't do this lightly. For thousands of years, only my most trusted confidants have known the whole truth about me. Myrddin, Helga, Nicolas, Geoffrey, Miranda… always, people who have been all but family to me. And now, the Weasleys. My first family. This is long overdue."
At that moment Miranda entered the room, pushing a cart laden with covered plates. Jasmine hummed with approval. "Excellent timing, Miranda, thank you." She gestured. "As I told Ron and Hermione, I don't like discussing weighty business on an empty stomach. Don't hesitate, dig in."
The meal was a quiet one, the raucousness of the Weasleys subdued among the polished wood and shining silverware. The food was delicious, of course: a baked salmon served with a fluffy rice mixture and vegetables. Molly worked up the courage to compliment the creamy sesame-flavoured sauce; Miranda smiled at the praise, explaining that it was called tahini. It was a huge hit amongst all the Weasley men, and she promised to give Molly the recipe, which made the witch smile warmly at having finally found some familiar ground.
As they ate Geoffrey navigated the table, offering chardonnay to any interested. All of the women opted in, as did Arthur and Percy, Bill and Ron sticking with their ice water. Down the table, Hermione heard Fleur make a small noise of pleased surprise as she tried the vintage.
Jasmine, as she had said, refused to discuss any "weighty" matters as they ate. Instead she made small talk with both Arthur and Percy, putting the nervous patriarch at ease.
"Percy, have you found employment yet?" she asked suddenly, twirling her wineglass between her fingers.
The redhead blushed, and shook his head; Hermione suspected Jasmine knew the answer before he'd given it. The actions of the Ministry during the war and his own complicity had soured him on public service... which left him in an unfortunate spot, since managing bureaucracy was where his talents lay. The long period of unemployment had ravaged his savings and forced him to move back into the Burrow, a mark of shame to the prideful man. So touchy was he on the matter that a few insensitive remarks by Ron or George had devolved to shouting matches, and once even a fistfight.
"Can you put together a resume and submit it to me? I've relaxed my wards, the owl will be able to find the way."
"A 'resume'?" Percy asked, confused. The wizarding world had no concept of the resume, Hermione had discovered… hiring was always done in person, and relied greatly upon personal referrals (or, she thought bitterly, pure nepotism).
"It's like an academic transcript, except more terse and primarily describes your employment history and experience."
"I can explain it to you, Percy," Hermione volunteered. "I actually wrote one for myself before I realized wizarding employers don't use them."
"So this is a muggle thing?" he asked.
"Yes, my company is primarily a muggle company, though not entirely," Jasmine said, "so we use muggle hiring methods. Once you see how it's done, I think you'll appreciate the nature of it."
He seized on that topic. "What is your company? What do you do? How did you build it?"
She described KI to them, making sure to include Arthur, who finally lost the vaguely nonplussed expression he'd had the entire time. The man was almost giddy as she described their communications wing and the several satellites they had in orbit. Dental drills and x-rays and more… wizards had spells to duplicate all those technologies. But: space! It was a uniquely muggle achievement, and though Hermione doubted Arthur really understood any of it, he was childlike in his glee at having it described to him. Molly regarded her husband with a fond, long-suffering sigh.
Hermione listened quietly - she already knew what KI did, after all - and before she knew it she'd cleaned her plate, as had everyone else. Ron, for once, had eaten at a civilized pace, and she quietly complimented him on it. He sheepishly admitted that the food simply fell off his fork if he ate too fast. Hermione glanced at Jasmine and saw the impish look on her face and nearly burst into laughter.
Miranda and Geoffrey quickly circled the table, removing the empty plates and leaving behind a dessert, either a fluffy cake or pudding depending on preference. Molly was unable to decide, so Miranda simply gave her both with a smile. Hermione hid a grin behind her wineglass, certain the two older women would be fast friends before the month was out.
Dessert didn't last long, and when everyone was done, Jasmine stood. "Now that we all seem to be finished, what say we get out of Miranda's way as she cleans up? We can retire to the drawing room, indulge in some more wine, and talk."
"I can fetch the wine," Geoffrey offered. "Do you have a preference in vintage?"
Jasmine paused and looked across the wide-eyed Weasleys. "Since this is a special occasion… how about a bottle of the Château d'Yquem. Thank you, Geoffrey."
"Quoi?" The exclamation was suddenly cut off. Every head in the room turned to regard the blushing veela, one hand on her mouth to contain the first words she'd spoken all evening. Hermione looked at Bill quizzically, and all he could do was shrug.
They slowly filed out of the room, Molly pausing a moment to heap praise on Miranda's cooking, the chef beaming in acknowledgement. Jasmine was the last out, and Hermione peeked through the door to see her speaking quietly with the dark-skinned woman. Both were smiling, and the conversation ended with a warm hug.
She ducked back as their host emerged from the dining room to hook an arm around Percy's once more. "This way, everyone. It's just on the other side of the entrance hall." They were lead back past the entrance and its wide staircase, to just inside the other wing of the building. A pair of double-doors met them, and Jasmine pushed them open to allow them inside.
They found themselves in a large room, filled with comfortable-looking couches arranged around a tall marble fireplace, already lit and filling the room with warmth. The mid-October sun was low on the horizon on the other side of the building, so the windows looked out upon stretched shadows, reaching like grey fingers across the rear lawn. The greenhouses Jasmine had mentioned on their trip to the apothecary could be seen in the distance… but Hermione had little interest in them, because the room they were in was filled with treasure.
Not gold or jewels, although there was a golden spear in a glass case by the door, and items decorated the mantlepiece of the fireplace, and there was an impressive set of swords and a shield set upon the wall. No, the treasure was books… books upon books, set in a pair of embedded shelves in the walls on either side of the fireplace, and yet more books lining shelves along the rear of the room. And not just books: she saw sheaves of paper, and scroll tubes, and was that papyrus?
She'd had to warn Ron not to get too excited over the food before they'd come over. Now he was giving her a knowing smirk, knowing full well she was needing to use all her willpower to not run to the back of the room and start flipping pages. She rolled her eyes and sighed with a grin.
Rather than tease her about it, he flopped down on a couch with a contented sigh. Fleur gave him a disapproving look.. which quickly shifted to Bill as he did the same. Hermione sat next to her fiance with a bit more grace, and one by one they each took a seat. Jasmine, Arthur, and Molly ended up occupying a sofa together. Even relaxed, legs crossed primly and her her hands resting quite properly on her knee, Jasmine looked as though she was occupying a throne. Molly was marveling at the fabric, and between them sat Arthur, looking pleased and bedazzled and nervous.
They'd barely sat themselves when Geoffrey arrived with a platter full of crystal glasses and a wine bottle. The bottle was obviously old, judging from the way the label was faded. Hermione was curious what was special about the wine to cause Fleur to regard the bottle with such wide eyes… the French witch was practically licking her lips.
Fortunately Geoffrey didn't dawdle pouring the wine, quickly popping the cork (pausing only to allow Jasmine to inspect it) and pouring a glass for each of them, which he handed out one by one. Then he left the bottle on the silver tray, retreating to stand by the door. Hermione thought Fleur would swallow the wine, glass and all, once it was given to her; instead the silvery blonde held it carefully, looking up to their host and obviously expecting more.
Jasmine stood, holding her glass up, swirling the liquid within and watching the firelight and fading daylight shimmer through it. "This wine was bottled in 1811," she explained. "Not from one of my vineyards, but from the descendants of a friend, Jacques de Sauvage, who acquired some lands in southern Bordeaux.
"Any student of history will tell you about how busy that particular year was… how Napoleon was gifted with his first son, even as he began suffering defeats in Europe. Or how James Madison of the United States was spoiling for another fight with England… one he'd eventually get, a year later. Armando Dippet was a visiting professor at the Salem Witches' Institute, and Grogan Stump was just installed as Minister of Magic… where he'd advance the causes of intelligent creatures further than any who'd preceded him," she said with a nod toward Hermione.
"And they might mention the Great Comet," she said, extending a finger to point upwards. "It blazed in the sky for nearly a year. The muggles were intrigued and inspired; we magicals… we exulted. Magic was so strong, so many muggleborn were conceived… magical schools around the world had a huge surge in class sizes a dozen years later. Near Christmas, as the comet waned, a group of wizards tried to harness its power in a dark ritual near New Madrid. I fought them, and the battle shook the continent."
She held the glass in front of her. "The muggles greatly respect and enjoy this wine, but to magical folk, it has special meaning. The magic of that year permeated the grapes… the wine produced is literally magical, bottled and brought forward in time, waiting for this moment, for me to have the opportunity to share it with you."
She paused. "I've dreamed of this moment," she finally said. "Even when I couldn't remember who I was. And… I was frightened by it. But now that we're here, I don't know what I was fearful about. So," she lifted the glass again, "enjoy."
Hermione would admit that she had no idea what made a good wine, but as she sipped the red liquid she decided it was probably a good example. Fleur seemed to be having a religious experience, so her judgement couldn't be that far off. Ginny preferred her alcohol in the form of vodka or firewhiskey, but she looked pleased as well. Ron was no oenophile, and his face pinched in distaste.
"It's all right if you don't like it, Ron," Jasmine said quietly, looking at him with amusement. "Give it to Fleur." Ron nodded gratefully and handed the glass to his sister-in-law, who looked between the treasure in each hand like Christmas had come early. Geoffrey slipped in and handed him a glass of ice water, and the redhead nodded in gratitude.
Hermione wondered if it was her imagination, or if she felt just a tiny bit more relaxed and yet more energetic… like power was coiling inside her, patiently waiting to be used. It could have been the alcohol, or even just her imagination. But the heavy mood disappeared, everyone seeming more at ease. If it was a placebo effect, she wasn't going to dispel the illusion.
Her restlessness showed as her eyes kept straying to the shelves in the rear of the room. She tried to be circumspect about it, but obviously not well enough… Jasmine rolled her eyes and stood, taking the wine from her hand and pouring the remainder into her own glass. She gestured at the library. "Go, Hermione. Fly. Be free."
She thought about protesting, but there wasn't a single person in the room who would believe it. So she simply grinned and dashed off, trying not to giggle.
Jasmine looked around, her expression that of a fond parent. "Well, go ahead and look around. Wander the manor if you feel like it. There's nothing dangerous, just don't break anything."
"Where's the dangerous stuff, then?" George asked, half-jokingly.
"Behind an Age Line in the cellar," she answered with unexpected bluntness. She extended a finger from her glass to point at him. "And even if all of those vials in your pockets were Ageing Potions, George Weasley, you wouldn't have near enough to get you across that Line." George coughed lightly and tried to sink into the cushions as Molly turned a glare on him.
Half of them spread throughout the room as Jasmine returned to her seat to chat with Molly and Arthur. Bill and Fleur also stayed seated, listening politely as the elders spoke. Jasmine asked about the state of the Ministry and the state of the reforms that Arthur was helping Shacklebolt institute; he almost sighed with relief at having something he knew about to discuss.
She would normally be interested in such a conversation - muggleborn rights were some of the problems being addressed after all - but there were books! Hermione happily flipped through a tome she'd picked at random from the shelves. The text was elegant lines of Arabic or Persian, neither of which she could read... but there were runes she could understand and arithmancy she could interpret. As near as she could tell the text was exploring water charms, and perhaps even describing the summoning of water elementals. Such creatures were considered incredibly dangerous - a water elemental could suck the moisture straight out of a careless wizard, or drown one just as easily!
She turned the pages, fascinated; beside her Ginny was lightly flipping through a book containing illustrations of dark creatures. Although the younger witch was not much of an academic, she handled the ancient book with a reverence which made her soon-to-be sister-in-law nod in approval. Ron and George were more interested in the swords and the golden spear in the corner. Percy explored the shelves that were set into the wall between the fireplace and the door, the third-eldest brother as fascinated as Hermione herself.
A small golden tray on the chimneypiece caught his attention. In it were two lumps of shapeless metal, barely the size of his thumb… they gleamed reddish-orange in the last rays of sun that managed to leak in through the windows, tinged green in their crevices. They looked like scrap, but their place on the marble shelf said otherwise. He picked up one of the pieces quizzically; Hermione saw him glance back at Jasmine, who was watching him intently.
All conversation had stopped. Jasmine's head tilted slightly. "Look in the tube behind, Percy," she said.
Curious, he put the lump of copper back in its place. Behind the tray was a bronze tube, nearly hidden, only slightly wider than his thumb but the length of his forearm. It was capped on one end with a wooden plug, which he pulled out at Jasmine's nod. Hermione found herself moving forward to stand behind the couch where the Weasleys sat, the book in her hands forgotten, as Percy shook out the contents of the tube.
It was a wand, grey in colour and ancient, the wood preserved with wax and spells. As Percy took hold of it a small fall of blue and golden sparkles spilled from the tip... not a perfect match, but he could cast spells with it if necessary.
"That wand belonged to Simon Westly, the last of Myrddin's apprentices," Jasmine said, causing Percy's eyes to go wide. "It was given to me by his son, Arthur, the night that he died. Arthur was named for the late king."
She stood, moving over and taking the wand from his hands. The dark-haired witch held the wooden stick between them. "Simon was barely twenty years old when Myrddin was killed. He wasn't there when it happened. I don't know if he could have stopped Medraut… but he should have been there. He should have tried." Her voice was hard. "When I discovered this, I was… wroth. Angry beyond all reason. I nearly murdered him. But death is a gift, and one I didn't feel like giving. So I cursed him with long life... and poverty through all of it."
"Simon went on to become one of the best healers Europe has ever seen. The medi-witches at Saint Mungo's are using some of his spells right now, without knowing their origins, because he never laid claim to them. He never sought fame, and never again sought fortune. It became something of a… family trait, really. It wasn't until that last night when I came to him that he let himself be forgiven."
"What I did to Simon was wrong," she said, her voice flat. "He loved Myrddin nearly as much as I. He would have gladly traded his life if it could have brought him back. His sin was no different than mine… I was furious because he shouldn't have left his mentor's side, but what right did I have to say that? Where was I when Myrddin fell? Certainly not where I should have been."
She handed the wand back to Percy, who took it as if it was a smoking Exploding Snap card. "All Simon wanted was to impress a young girl… and in that one moment, tragedy struck. But he remembered, he learned, and he moved forward. Something I've always been forced to do, he did by choice. And he made the world better doing it. He may not have finished his apprenticeship, but he learned the one lesson Myrddin tried to teach to everyone."
What she was saying wasn't lost on any of them; Percy was looking down at the wand, his knuckles white as he gripped it.
Jasmine laid a hand on his. "Simon Westly. West-lea. Simon of the Western Lea." She looked across the family. "Names change over time, especially when most of the population is illiterate and nothing can be written down. 'Myrddin' becomes 'Merlin'... 'Muirgen' became 'Morgana'. Simon's sons had more sons, and those sons had sons of their own, and they strayed around Britannia and to the continent. As they did, those names changed. Some remained Westly, others became Wesley, and so on. I don't know why I followed their paths… perhaps it was my own guilt for what I'd done."
Her gaze settled on Arthur. "So imagine my surprise, then, when one of Simon's descendants started calling himself Weasley, a name that I was sure I recognized."
Everyone in the room forgot how to breathe. Ginny's jaw hung open, mirroring Fleur. For a giddy moment Hermione thought about the quarrel that making such a comparison out loud would cause.
Jasmine looked around the room, apparently pleased with the reaction. She looked back at Percy, her eyes squinting with amusement. "I'm rather glad I didn't kill him… aren't you?"
And just like that, the barrier was gone. Ginny was the first to speak up, asking timidly what Merlin - or Myrddin - had been like. That resulted in Jasmine sharing a tale of coming home to find him wearing one of her frocks, making fun of her by moaning about fate and time. She couldn't allow such aggression to stand, so she cursed herself with a beard and ranted breathlessly about magical government and brotherhood among wizards. She described the hilarious scene with such bittersweet fondness that Molly was teary-eyed.
"After that, we-" She stopped, giving a mischievous little smile. "Well, there are young ears present." Poor Percy… of all the things he thought to learn from "Morgan", that the father of modern magic would indulge in sexy roleplay probably hadn't been on the list. George, of course, was delighted.
One by one, they asked their questions, listening to her answers with utter fascination. "...Antheia? Honestly, I have no idea. I was… well, gardening. I was in a bad place, right after Atlantis was destroyed. I lost many friends that day. I wanted to rest, meditate… find my balance again. So I planted gardens. And the muggles saw me, and a few decades later suddenly I'm the goddess of flowers. I was planting vegetables most of the time! Of course as soon as I found out, I ran… it was quite embarrassing. Ran straight to China just as the Shang dynasty was coming to its messy end. Not one of my best decisions."
"... Oh, Godric. My gods, that man. Handsome enough, and no better a fellow to have beside you in a battle… if you could put up with his haranguing afterward on any 'dishonourable methods' you used to save all their behinds. At least Salazar knew to say thank you and then shut up."
"... I'd rather not get into Salazar, if you don't mind. I won't excuse his behaviour, but there's tragedy behind the tale. He's gone, and now his descendants with him… leave it be."
At some point Geoffrey snuck out of the room, returning with a scrapbook. He received a lighthearted glare as he presented it to her. Then he left them alone in the room to spend some time with his wife, letting the Weasleys wheedle Jasmine into showing the contents.
It was filled with papers and photos, precious and old and arranged in no particular order. She showed them a painting of herself, magically shrunken and preserved, dated from the early 1800s. It had been painted on her estate in Louisiana in the late 1820s, she explained, and Hermione marvelled at seeing her friend dressed in a severe, high-necked gown that would have done Professor McGonagall proud. The next page was a photo of herself with a young man, her hair trimmed short, looking stunning in an unmistakable "flapper" outfit.
After that was a letter written in the elegant glyphs of Mandarin… a love letter, Jasmine said, from a young farmer who had become infatuated with her during her time in western China; she hadn't allowed the relationship, she said, but his interest had been sweet and earnest. Following that was a polaroid that featured a much-younger Geoffrey and Miranda. The couple were sitting on a picnic table on a sunny day, and alongside them was a barely-recognizable Jasmine. Wearing khakis and a dark jacket, she had a spiked collar around her throat and one entire side of her head was shaved, the rest of her hair dyed a rainbow of colours. Molly huffed with disapproval while Ginny and George cackled with glee.
Some of the contents were astonishingly old, and unbelievably valuable: Fleur's jaw dropped at an ancient letter addressed to Morgan le Fay from Etienne de la Barthe, the first Headmistress of Beauxbatons. Jasmine's obvious favourite was a picture of herself giving Ringo Starr a kiss on the cheek while flashing a peace symbol at the camera; she was scandalized that none of the Weasleys recognized the musician.
Some questions she refused to answer, such as what had caused her to give up her identity as Wadjet after bearing the name for two thousand years... nor would she describe how she'd participated in World War Two. Shadows passed across her face at their mention, and she politely but firmly changed the subject. They knew not to press, but Hermione looked at her friend and hoped one day she'd share whatever pain she still carried.
The evening passed like a blink, and they were all taken by surprise when a small clock on the shelf nearest the window dinged twelve musical notes. "Well, we've been at this rather longer than I expected," Jasmine remarked. "Would you all like to spend the night? There's enough rooms ready for all of you."
They all agreed, even Bill and Fleur, who had cautioned Andromeda that they might be gone all night. Jasmine showed them to their rooms herself, leading them through the quiet peacefulness of the manor. Each couple was given a room, while Ginny, George, and Percy had beds to themselves. Jasmine explained where her room was if they needed to talk, and (almost directly to Ron) where the kitchen was if they wanted a snack.
Hermione looked around the room they'd been given… despite the hour she really wasn't tired, but the bed looked soft and incredibly inviting. Ron was rooting through a antique dresser, looking for something to serve as pajamas.
Feeling mischievous, she cast a silencing charm on the room, leaving her wand on the bedside table as she unbuttoned her blouse.
"There's some shorts in here… they won't fit me, but they'll probably do fine on you," Ron was saying as he pushed some garments aside. "Unless you want to transfigure something."
"Ron-"
"Oh! Track pants! I could wear those-"
"Ron."
"What? Did you-" He turned, and his jaw dropped.
"Why would we need pajamas?"
They slept very well afterward. The next morning she was woken by Ron nibbling lightly on her bare shoulder; she was still in a good mood, so she renewed the silencing charm and indulged him again.
Poor Lavender… she would never know what she'd missed out on. Ron had assured Hermione that the desperate, emotional night they'd shared a month after the Battle of Hogwarts had been his first time, and that things with Lavender had never progressed beyond snogging and some light groping. She felt no jealousy… those days were long past, and she still felt sorry for what had happened to the blonde witch. Meanwhile, being a modern, liberated woman - and Ron's long-time study partner - Hermione had helped him refine his technique in the years since, and was more than pleased with the results.
She left her fiance in an exhausted, elated stupor on the bed and padded to the bedroom's adjoining bathroom, where she took care of her morning needs and then indulged in a wonderful hot shower. All the shampoo and conditioner and products she needed to tame her hair were present… even a muggle flatiron was on the counter. She suspected that their overnight stay hadn't been unexpected at all.
Ron slipped into the shower just as she stepped out. She could hear his stomach grumbling, and she was hungry as well, so she hurried through drying and treating her hair and getting dressed. He was lounging fully clothed on the bed by the time she was done, having transfigured his more formal shirt and slacks to more comfortable t-shirt and jeans. She took his hand and they headed out into the halls in search of breakfast.
They wandered in the direction of the kitchen, knowing they were near when they caught the wonderful scent of baking bread and pastries. Opening the door revealed Jasmine seated at the large wooden table, holding a cup of tea as she chatted quietly with Bill and Fleur, a plate of croissants sitting on a platter between them. Fleur was still in her nice dress, which wasn't wrinkled in the slightest, but Bill had done the same as Ron and transfigured his clothing into something more comfortable. Jasmine was probably the most casually dressed of them all, enjoying her breakfast in track pants and a black tank top.
Her eyes sparkled as she noticed them. "Good morning, Ron and Hermione. What have you two youngsters been up to under my roof?"
The two of them froze like they'd been caught sneaking out... Fleur coughed lightly. Hermione's jaw fell. "What… How… Did you know what kind of effect the wine would have?" she sputtered. Beside her, Ron squeaked.
Jasmine was looking entirely too pleased with herself, and Bill was hiding his mouth behind a croissant. The ancient woman rested her chin in her hands and looked at them with wide, innocent eyes. "The wine just relaxes you and gives you a bit of energy. If you have certain preferences as to where to direct that energy… well, that's on you." Ron was blushing deep enough that it was hard to tell where his hair began, and Hermione could do nothing more than sputter some more. Jasmine gestured at the table. "Well, come have a croissant. There's more on the way."
Groaning, Hermione sat down next to Fleur, pointedly ignoring their host as she claimed a pastry and a spoonful of the clotted cream. Jasmine watched her as she sipped her tea, and Bill had his own embarrassed and amused expression as Ron avoided meeting his brother's gaze.
As she chewed, Fleur leaned over. "She said ze same to us when we came in," Fleur whispered into her ear as she chewed, causing her to nearly choke. The part-veela blushed prettily. "'Zo en français."
"Je parle quelques langues civilisées. Though it'd be rude to exclude the others. Would you prefer some pumpkin juice, Ron? There's some in the fridge." She fetched the jug for him, and then went to pull the latest batch of fresh croissants from the oven.
The smell as they cooled on the rack made Hermione hungry again, and she snatched the last of the previous batch before Ron could. She stuck her tongue out at him before tearing the pastry in half and giving him the other piece. "Where's Miranda?" she asked.
"Oh, she was just cooking supper for us. I gave her a portkey home this morning… its 2AM or so there, she'll be able to get some more sleep. I told Geoffrey he should sleep in, too, but don't be surprised if he's up soon trying to take care of all of us. He's a huge mother hen."
They chatted pleasantly about inanities - Quidditch, or the latest semi-truthful insanity reported by the Daily Prophet - as the Sunday morning ticked by, only pausing when Jasmine had to deal with the oven or fetch more tea. Geoffrey did not appear as expected, and Jasmine's bald statement of "Miranda must have really worn him out" (said with blatant approval) made both Fleur and Hermione blush again.
Eventually Ginny wandered in, followed a little while later by Percy. Each was met with a polite greeting and offering of croissants and tea.
Ginny moaned as she bit into a pastry smeared with a bit of jam. "Do you need a roommate, Jas? I'd gladly do the dishes to eat like this all the time. I'd never fit on my broom again, but it'd be worth it."
"You can't apparate directly onto the grounds, but behind the hedge at the beginning of the willows is fine. Visit any time you like, though I can't guarantee that I'll be here. That applies to all of you."
Hermione smiled widely, then they were distracted as the kitchen door opened slightly. Arthur's head poked through. "Ah! Good morning, everyone," he greeted, pushing the door open and revealing Molly beside him.
"Arthur and Molly. What have you two youngsters been up to under my roof?"
Their faces turned red. Bill buried his face in his hands as Ron snorted half his glass of pumpkin juice. Ginny and Percy looked on with confusion while Hermione pounded on his back as he coughed.
