All my pictures of you
Pictures of You - The Cure [1989]
Winter 2005
Antonin followed the sound of raised voices through the corridors of his winter home; the snow was beginning to fall steadily outside, the light, picture postcard flurry being replaced by a full blown blizzard. He dodged the elves that were scampering about trying to keep the fires lit; he expected their urgency was owing to a desire to keep Hermione warm, and therefore happy. They all danced attendance on his wife, in much the same way as the elves in their London home did. Hermione had found it strange at first, she had explained to his personal elf how the elves at Hogwarts hadn't liked her because of her S.P.E.W. campaign, and the little elf had smiled indulgently at her and carried on. They seemed to find her interest in their welfare eccentric and endearing, rather than harmful.
Antonin's determined stride was halted by a mass of blonde hair streaming past him down the hall; he accelerated to pick up Perdita before she ran straight into a wall, she had done it before. The squirming three year old laughed at his attempts to control her exploits, and he hoisted her up over his shoulder, as he stepped into the main reception room where everyone else was scattered, stopping to safely deposit the giggling mass of flying limbs onto Luna's lap. The little girl was the mirror image of her mother, with her fair hair and dreamy expression, but in personality, she was all Rabastan, too much emotion in too small a body, she was never still.
Antonin collapsed into a wingback chair, next to Yax, who had found a similarly comfortable spot, his friend immediately handed him a liberal measure of firewhisky which prompted his silent toasting of thanks. When the first two sips went down a little too quickly Antonin made to check the time, to see how long dinner would be, pulling out his old pocket watch that had once belonged to his father. Antonin had begun wearing it after he had gotten out of prison, when he and Hermione had started sorting out the townhouse to turn it into their home. Reuben said it made him look like an old man but he liked it, and he liked carrying something that reminded him of his parents. Antonin often wondered what they would have made of Hermione, against all the odds he had found himself with a person that made him as happy as they were, though he probably didn't deserve such bliss, he believed they would have been proud of him.
Opening the polished silver cover his eyes were drawn away from the clock face, as usual, moving to the underside of the lid, where, delicately placed, was a picture of a dancing girl being whirled around the floor. Only this image was different to the one he had carried around all those years before. The girl was the same, the same chestnut curls, the same sparkling brown eyes, but in this picture her dress was not a soft blue, but a shimmering, brilliant white. The silk hugged her more mature frame, the voluminous skirt waving around her like distant clouds. In this photo the wizard dancing with her, enjoying her attention and smiles was him. Antonin was sure he was supposed to say his wedding day had been the best of his life, but he couldn't be certain that was true, the day had been fantastic, but he'd had so many truly beautiful days with Hermione, he could no longer put them in ranking order.
When she had secured his release from Azkaban they had taken the time to put themselves, and each other, back together. Antonin had walked into what felt like a ready-made family. Luna and Rabastan had been waiting for his return to get married and only waited three more months, marrying in the December of that year. Luna had decided on a traditional wedding, and she stood in front of a small circle of guests, naked as the day she was born, warming charms placed at her feet that were sunk into the deep snow covering the rear gardens of Lestrange Manor. Antonin and Rodolphus had stood on either side of Hermione, both taking it in turns to glare at her, as she couldn't help laughing as they struggled to hide their discomfort, neither knowing where to look. It could have been much worse.
The month before Hermione had come home with what she had described as 'Luna's offering, of a comprise Maid of Honour outfit'. The dress, if it could have been called that, consisted of a flesh coloured netting material, that fell to the floor, with only a few artfully placed flowers protecting her modesty. When Hermione had walked into the bedroom wearing it, Antonin had felt all of his advanced years, convinced that he was going to have a heart attack, the feeling of tightness in his chest only intensifying when she explained that she would be expected to wear that in front of other people. After a furious argument and an even fiercer coupling against the wall, more appropriate robes were decided on, and Hermione admitted she had never intended to wear the dress in any case. Antonin had realised then how skilfully he had been played; it would not be the last time.
After the Lestrange wedding, he had convinced Hermione to take her N.E. , education was incredibly important to her, and though he understood, and was eternally grateful to her, for putting them off, he knew she would regret it if she never completed her schooling. After speaking to the Headmistress, Minerva allowed her to come to the school to take the exams the following year, and Hermione agreed. They divided their time between helping her study and making changes around the home.
As soon as she had obtained her qualifications, they took Severus up on his offer to procure potions ingredients for his store. It allowed Antonin to be with Hermione, and to have time with her away from everyone else, though all of them made annoyingly regular visits. After all of his years alone, he felt he had time to make up for. A year globe-trotting later, they came back to England and got married quietly at their home. Hermione had never left the townhouse once he came back from prison, Antonin simply couldn't stand to be away from her for extended periods of time.
A week after their wedding Reuben had given him the picture he was staring at now, smiling knowingly as he passed it over. His friend had been present the first time he had ever seen a picture of Hermione, and knew the effect that seeing such a similar shot would have on him. But it was different now. In this picture, she was his, like he had been hers from the moment he had seen her.
When the news of their marriage broke the press took up the fallen mantle and vilified Hermione once again. Rita Skeeter wrote a ten-page exclusive, detailing every fictitious shame and fault his wife supposedly had. The article contained slander after slander, starting with manufactured events from when Hermione was little more than a child. Antonin had been livid, and he wasn't the only one, though when he read the next weeks Quibbler to find an article entitled 'Tea with Hermione Dolohov', where Luna pointedly questioned Hermione on her growing concerns for Skeeter's sanity he lost his murderous intent and began to find the whole situation rather funny.
Antonin looked across at Luna who was still sat on the floor, clutching a mug to her chest, Perdita was now on the other side of the room, being entertained by her uncle. Hermione had cried snotty tears when her friend had named their child, and again when they asked her to be godmother, Hermione's tears had triggered Luna's and both himself and Rabastan, former Death Eaters, stood utterly powerless as the women sobbed, embracing each other. Both now in effect motherless, the girls clung to each other even more. Hermione was actively involved in Perdita's life, but, though the little girl loved her 'Auntie Mi', everyone knew she only had eyes for Rodolphus. From when she was too small to walk the tiny blonde, and the older wizard had formed an unquestionable bond. For a man that had been robbed of the chance to raise his daughter, being able to be involved in the caring for his niece healed something in him.
Antonin's eyes were distracted by a sudden soft wave of magic; Luna was waving her wand hanging some snowflakes she had taken from outside earlier, as Perdy clapped animatedly, that girl was made for the winter.
While travelling around the world, Antonin had taken Hermione to Russia, back to Sochi where he had been born. He had felt compelled to return after he had learnt everything the ambassador had done for his case. They ended up coming back to the town often and then, three years ago, they had bought this house, and it had become an unofficial tradition for them all to congregate here for Yule.
Antonin looked over at his little wife who was ardently discussing something with Severus; the more her arms flailed, the deeper the dark haired wizard scowled. She had a thick jumper on, despite the raging fire, and Antonin fought the smile off his face. Hermione had not adapted quickly to life in Russia; she sank in the snow, was terrible on skates, and was entirely convinced the atmosphere messed with her hair even more than humidity had in warmer climes. She went because he loved it, at first, and then she had fallen in love with the house. Once you were cosy inside you could enjoy the beautiful picture postcard views, so she said.
Christmas and the New Year were always a time of reflection; this year had been more monumental than most, this year his parole had ended. They had been model wizards during their term, knowing the government would be looking for an excuse and not even Hermione would have been able to save them. In September Antonin had received his official notification from the Ministry, signed by the Minister himself, there had been a sigh of relief when it had come through, and Hermione had collapsed on the floor, a sobbing mess, when he had handed it to her, it was days before her shaking abated. After all this time she had still been terrified that someone would take him away from her. Antonin had held her even tighter than usual that night, whispering comforting words in her ear; 'The only person who will take me from you is death, and you can be sure I'll put up a fight, even against them'.
Hermione looked so happy, whooping with delight as she declared herself the winner of her debate with Severus, today it was almost impossible to think of how she had been then. Hermione had grown into herself since he had first known her, the world being at peace had allowed her to relax. She had thrown herself into everything with more vigour than even he would have thought possible. She explained once that she had felt her life had been on pause since she was fourteen, Antonin had felt his life had been on hold till he met her.
They had built their lives around this random group of people, who had been thrown together by circumstance. All linked in together somehow. Without the threat of punishments and machinations to make them suspicious of one another the former Death Eater colleagues built bonds of friendship. The dynamics hadn't changed much, they were still the same people, but they respected and appreciated each other more. Just like a family born of blood, everyone had their role to play; Severus and Hermione squabbled like siblings but were the first line of defence for each other if anyone else had anything to say. Antonin and Rodolphus debated political reform, always seeming to have opposing views, though he was fairly sure there were times when his father-in-law was just baiting him. Rabastan and Luna made everyone uncomfortable with their overzealous displays of affection. Rodolphus bored them all to death with stories of a pig or some such he had just brought, and Reuben fought with everyone, especially Severus, and yet the two men seemed to rate the intelligence of each other to the exclusion of almost anyone else.
It was chaotic, noisy and often confrontational, but none of them would have had it any other way.
Summer 2006
Luna had just dropped all of her many bags behind her desk when the owl post arrived, a small flurry of birds swooped in, depositing a multitude of brightly coloured parchment envelopes on her disorganised desk. A broad smile lit up her face as she sat up in her chair, spinning it around idly as she fingered through the letters. Most were affirmative responses to Perdita's birthday party. When she had gone through the stack, Luna tallied the count and sent a quick note off to Hermione so that she could update her record. Her friend was handling everything for the day, and Luna couldn't have been more grateful. Hermione's natural organisational skills made her perfect for looking after all the arrangements, and that way Luna could work on decorations at home, in the limited free time she had at the moment.
She had taken over as editor of The Quibbler six months before, when her father had sat her down and told her he wanted to take a step back. He wasn't as young as he used to be, and the war had taken its toll, and yet, Luna suspected that Xeno may have been overplaying his feelings slightly, and was just desirous of seeing her in what he had long considered to be her 'rightful place. Luna had been hesitant about making such a large commitment, she loved being at home with her daughter, but neither of them could think of anyone that would better uphold the standards that her dad had created. Luna had been raised by a single working father, and she had never felt the absence of love or time from him, if she worked hard Perdita would feel the same.
She glanced up at the pictures all over her desk of her family and friends, taking in their happy faces as they waved to her from their mismatched frames. Luna had never imagined she would have all of this. Her mother had told her before she died, that she would have great love in her life, Luna felt slightly ashamed now that despite her mother's words never being wrong she'd had moments, while still at Hogwarts, where she hadn't believed the premonition.
Her upbringing had been unusual, to say the least, her interaction with other children before school had been minimal and mostly unsuccessful. She had tried to speak to them, in the same way, that she did the creatures or flowers that she discovered around her home, but they did not respond in the same way. Some were mean, some laughed, but worse some ignored her. Luna remembered her mother's face when she had come home one day, excitedly asking if she had become invisible, she hadn't understood the look of pain etched into her mother's face, but she did now.
Luna had been so excited when she found out she was going to Hogwarts, although she was sad to be leaving her father, he had assured her that she was off to begin the first of what would become a life filled with adventures. Only she found that things were much the same there, people didn't understand, people looked passed her, until the little cluster of Gryffindors had befriended her.
She stretched out in her chair and grabbed the first stack of proposals, shaking herself from her rambling thoughts and got down to work.
Lunch time rolled around quickly as she was so busy, readership for The Quibbler had gone up before it had closed down during the war. Those people remained faithful to the publication even in times of peace, and Luna had spent an hour of the day discussing preliminary plans to begin distribution in Paris and Rome.
She walked through the floo in her office, stepping straight into the manor, and into the waiting arms of the man she had called husband for five years. "What are you doing here? You don't have to wait for me?" she softly chastised.
"I know," he mumbled into her hair. "You got up so early this morning I didn't get the chance to say goodbye properly," he abruptly pulled away from her, "come now, the other Lestrange's are starving, we've been waiting for you."
Luna was dragged along behind Rabastan, laughing at his enthusiasm for a regular Tuesday afternoon meal. Perdita was sat at the round table, looking quite the little lady in her soft yellow dress, though the overall effect was enhanced by multicoloured splotches of paint that covered almost all of her exposed skin. Her easel was resting in the corner, bright and patchy hand prints all over a single canvas. Perdita had declared yesterday that she was making a picture for her mother's office, and had brought it into the small dining room to 'show her progress'. Luna preferred the comfy room to the ample larger ones throughout the home. Though they had extensively redecorated, stripping away all of the stuffy formality, this was their family room, it opened with French doors onto the garden and was bathed in light all year round.
Luna had never behaved like a typical pureblood lady, and motherhood had not changed her. She had worried when she was pregnant that Rabastan would expect her to raise their child in a certain way, it turned out to be just the opposite, he was generally in more of a mess than their daughter. Luna smiled as she spotted tell-tale smudges under his fingernails and tipped her head to regard the hand prints that looked decidedly too large on Perdy's canvas, he only winked at her.
Rabastan seemed to relive his childhood again through their little girl, though this time he was free to be whomever he wanted to be, in many ways Perdita had that effect on the whole group. All of them cautious of the tiny life that was amongst them now, all of them concerned that she would be doomed to commit the same mistakes they had. Luna would shake her head at them, out of sight, they couldn't see things the way she did, couldn't see how being brought up, bathed in so much love, was the perfect upbringing for anyone.
When she had been heavily pregnant, she had gone shopping with Hermione, to get the last of the items that she needed, Hermione, as ever, had done extensive reading and had a monumentally comprehensive list, even by her standards. As they were leaving the last store a couple of witches approached them, sneers on their faces, their auras swirling and red. Luna knew the second Hermione had noticed them as the curly-haired witch moved into a defensive stance ahead of her, her friend had always been protective, and that had only magnified while she was pregnant. Between Hermione, Rabastan and the rest, Luna had been lucky to be able to pour a drink unaided, she had gotten support from Yaxley, who would tell them all to back off, but he had then loudly told her husband how 'erotic' she looked while large with child at 'family dinner' and lost whatever influence he had exerted previously. The women told her how disgusted they were by her marriage, her pregnancy, how she would never be happy, how she was condemning her child to life on the margins of society. Luna had stood back, barely listening with a serene smile on her face before laying an arm on her friend's shoulder to hold Hermione back if necessary.
Luna looked around the dining room, at her doting husband and her paint splattered daughter.
They couldn't have been more wrong.
Reuben sauntered up the stairs to the Dolohov townhouse, moving at a rate Hermione would have described as 'taking his sweet time'. He was already an hour late, so a few minutes more would hardly hurt. Not that it mattered, none of them stood on ceremony for 'family dinner' anyway. He was let in by a cheerful elf, whistling off-key, and made his way to the sunroom at the back of the house. Hermione had spent so much time in the one in his home during the war that Antonin had one constructed on his property, as a wedding gift to her. It linked up to the Dolohov library through double doors on one side, and as such was always where Hermione could be found, she described it as her earthbound paradise. It was also where she hosted when it was the Dolohov's turn; Hermione felt the dining room was way too formal for such occasions, and despite his upbringing, Reuben agreed.
Dinner had just been served as he entered the room and he made his way to the table nodding his head and rolling his eyes at the familiar ribbing for his lateness.
As he began to reach for plates he noticed a few weird looks being sent in his direction; it set him on edge, he turned to look at Antonin, who was pushing more food onto Hermione's plate as she chatted to Rabastan, managing to mouth 'what?' at his friend. Antonin made a sharp gesture with his hand Reuben he couldn't follow. 'What?' he mouthed again, more insistently this time. Antonin did not get a chance to respond.
"He is gesturing to the bruises on your neck," Luna singsonged.
Ah. Well, he hadn't thought to look there, he was running rather late from his latest assignation and hadn't bothered to look in the mirror once he had thrown his clothes on.
Reuben looked up to find half the rooms occupants still looking at him. "Less of the po faces, I've spent enough time in close quarters with you lot to know you're not untouched flowers, so floor show is over, back to your food."
Hermione set down her fork, a clear indicator that she was about to launch into a lecture, and he glanced at her impatiently, wishing she would wait until he had eaten before starting up again.
"You should find yourself a nice witch and settle down Reuben, you're certainly attractive enough, and most days you have what passes for manners."
"Is this all that is required now? How standards have slipped," Snape drawled.
"Piss off you, they're still high enough to prevent you getting your end away," he retorted.
"Could you keep it down to a dull roar Yax, my child is in his room," Rabastan sighed wearily.
Reuben wasn't listening; he was too busy trying to suppress his laughter at the look Antonin had just shot his wife. His friend had been married for nearly five years, but it didn't stop his possessive streak, he didn't seem that happy to hear Hermione's inadvertent praise.
"Why would I need that, when I have you to fuss over me little duck?" Antonin's glare redirected to him; it held a promise that their next practice duel might have less formal rules than normal.
Luna quickly diverted the conversation and talk turned to that weekend. All of the wizards present were off to Italy for two nights, a plan that was quietly considered mutually beneficial. Perdita's party was next weekend, and the men wanted to be out of the way while Luna and Hermione continued going above and beyond for the day. Additionally, they all wanted to go somewhere they could talk strategy in the event something went wrong. This was the first time they had invited other people to one of their important family events. Birthdays, anniversaries and Christmas had always been reserved for just the seven of them, well, eight now, with the little one. But both witches had insisted that this time more needed to come. They had all agreed, reluctantly, they had all been somewhat isolated as children, and Reuben knew he didn't want that for the bright-eyed girl, but old habits die hard and if people were coming into the fold, albeit briefly, they would want to be prepared, to protect their loved ones, from physical, or more likely, emotional upset.
"So what are the plans for the Saturday?" Hermione asked, breaking Yaxley's train of thought.
He looked up momentarily at Antonin who made an almost imperceptible shake of his head; it would appear that Hermione did not know about the Muggle motorbike rental company they had made contact with. "You know the usual, searching for things of unparalleled beauty, whether they be located amidst stunning vistas, dusty wine racks or between women's thi-"
"Perdita is just there Yax," Hermione whisper yelled, her face breaking into a rosy hue.
"Is that what you're worried about Hermione? Really? Or are you just upset about your husband, and his 'certainly attractive enough' best pal making friends?" He waggled his eyebrows at her.
"I'm sure you would like to think so," she replied sweetly, her eyes flashing in warning, "But really, you have your fun boys."
"Yes do," Luna chimed in, "Hermione and I are going into Muggle London with Ginny and Fleur. A witch in Fleur's office has just come out of a long-term relationship, so we are taking her out to bars with the hope of meeting someone."
The look on Antonin and Rabastan's faces suggested this was news to them. Reuben sat back in his chair with a smirk as he watched his friend circle a hand around Hermione's wrist as they began a furious conversation all under their breath.
He was happy for him, though he didn't want what he had, not really, maybe if he had met someone earlier it would have been different, but not now. Reuben was happy enjoying his freedom. He had spent his years in Azkaban planning everything he would do when he left, granted he had not factored in this merry band of misfits, but they amplified his life, never took away. He had more than he ever thought possible because of them. He was still a pureblood, though, the last scion of an old and ancient name and Reuben had enough pride in it left to start thinking about provisions for the future. Antonin had confided in him recently, after far too much firewhisky, that he and Hermione might be ready to try for children soon. Yaxley had slapped him on the back, and after the Russian had clumsily stumbled through the floo later that evening, he began making plans to have their second child named as his heir. It was a relatively safe bet they would have two, both had been only children, and both would have loved a sibling, both had gone on to choose their own.
Reuben reached forward to pour himself another generous glass of wine and privately toasted his life.
Rabastan aggressively dusted himself off as he stepped out of the floo, the hand movement did nothing to dislodge the incredible amount of mud and other grime that covered his robes. He had so far resisted donning the ridiculous clothing his brother found appropriate for life on his farm, but one more day coming home like this and he might have to consider it.
They had arranged to have the party at Dolph's small holding, there was plenty of space for the kids to run around, and it was Perdita's favourite place on earth. Rabastan would have felt jealous of his daughter's incredible love for his brother if he didn't know that he was number one in her eyes really, as petty as knew it was to worry about such things. He was the one she ran to if she fell over, or was worried about the monsters under the bed. He was the one dragged from whatever moment's rest he had managed to get, to see some creature she had found, whether real or imaginary. Keeping up with his daughter, and wife, was exhausting, and it was positively the best form of exhaustion in existence.
Dolph had contacted him the week before to let him know he had brought Perdy a pony for her birthday, which was a fine idea, it would be kept on the farm, at very little inconvenience to Rabastan, and so he had heartily agreed. That was until this morning, when he was summoned to help with the delivery. How hard can it be? He had thought, then he was stood outside a container trying to corral the animal into the custom built pen with his brother. It was safe to say that Voldemort would probably not have been impressed that two of his inner circle were repeatedly outsmarted by a creature that barely came up to his waist, but there it was.
Rabastan rose up the stairs, still grumbling to himself; one thing was for certain, his brother could attempt to put the bow he'd brought for that brute on himself, Rab frowned as he flexed his hand, remembering the bite marks that littered his fingers.
Seeing how far the sun had fallen in the sky, he moved into his bedroom quietly finding it softly illuminated by a charmed bunny nightlight he had made for his girl the year before, contrived to look like his wife's Patronus, that she often conjured for Perdy to 'scare the bad dreams away'. The spectral hare worked on his baby's nightmares the same way his wife's presence did for his own.
Rabastan's eyes fell to the bed and the two separate masses of soft blonde hair poking from underneath the covers. Luna was asleep on his side, something she often did if she went up before him, and Perdy was in the middle, curled up in her mother's front, her head resting under Luna's chin. Rabastan felt his heart swell. He still had times where he felt almost completely overwhelmed, and even scared, of how he felt, how much he felt, but it was easier now he had an anchor, or two.
Recently he could see why Xeno had found it so difficult; the similarities were easy to pick out when you saw them like this, both at peace. You would typically miss the incredible likeness between mother and daughter when they were awake, Luna was everything serene, and Perdy was a ball of endless energy.
Rabastan had been terrified when he first went to meet his would-be father-in-law, he didn't exactly have the best prospects for someone's daughter on paper. He was twice her age, had a criminal record as long as his arm and had nothing to show for himself, other than surviving prison but, for some reason, Xeno had accepted him anyway. He had never had a cross word or seen anything but a warm disposition from him, up until Perdy was two.
By that age, her little features had started to set, and the wizard walked through the floo one day to see his grandchild clutched in his daughter's lap only to stop dead in the doorway and run back out. Luna had looked up alarmed, and Rabastan had chased out of the house, through the floo, to find Xeno slumped in his room, clutching a series of pictures to his chest while tears fell silently down his face. Rabastan saw it then, Pandora and Luna, Luna and Perdita. He awkwardly hugged the older wizard and left a significant amount of firewhisky on the kitchen side before inviting him to lunch in two days' time.
Xeno had come, there was never any further visible sign of distress again, but Rabastan saw it sometimes, lurking in the back of his eyes. From one haunted man to another, the residual pain was an easy spot.
Rabastan had a quick shower before drying his hair and jumping into bed on Luna's side, smelling the lavender of her perfume, curling himself around his daughter and kissing his wife's forehead. He was grateful she was already asleep, he would never admit as much, but he had been a little worried about facing her.
Hermione had stopped at the manor earlier in the day, and as much as she had tried to carry on a normal conversation, it was clear from the moment she had stepped into the room she had something on her mind, it was a running joke just how bad a liar she was. As it turned out she had been out with some of the girls from Hogwarts, Rabastan fought the sneer that threatened to cross his face; he had no time for the 'friends' that his niece supposedly had while she was at school, bar a very select few. They had all done very little to help her when she needed them; a lesser person would have crumbled under all that public scrutiny but not her, it had spurred Hermione on.
She relayed some news she had heard with a deliberately casual air, to purposefully offhand an air, not enough time around Slytherin's yet love.
"What is it you want to know Hermione?" he had asked impatiently.
"I heard it mentioned that some of the girls from Hogwarts, from around the time I was there, were reporting strange incidents," she said nonchalantly, inspecting her fingernails.
"Strange incidents?" he asked with practised indifference.
"Yes, very strange. Some of their possessions seem to be going missing," Hermione said with raised eyebrows.
"And this is of interest to me because?" he questioned disdainfully.
"Well, it isn't something I would usually tell you about, I know how you hate idle gossip, but when I asked for specifics you'll never guess what I found," she declared.
"Amaze me," Rabastan drawled, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms.
"All of the items appear to be shoes."
"Fascinating."
"Isn't it? Not just that, but all the girls affected were in Ravenclaw house, and the incidents seem to have started three years ago. The date seemed significant, and you wouldn't believe it, it started the week after we all went to Provence, do you remember uncle? When we all had far too much elf made wine and were talking about times when we had lost our temper, Luna told the story of me shouting at the Ravenclaw Prefect and why." Hermione abruptly stood then, placing her hand on his shoulder and squeezing gently. "If I could speak to that person I would probably advise them to stop now; the point has been made, after all, they are Ravenclaws, they will figure it out eventually."
"I'm not so sure they deserve it to stop," Rabastan muttered petulantly.
"Maybe not, but Luna would want yo… that person, to do so," Hermione said with a small smile.
"They thought about doing worse first," he admitted quietly.
"Oh?"
"It was never just stealing was it, it was torturing someone, targeting someone vulnerable and different… I… They thought about removing their feet first," he said calmly, truthfully.
Hermione paled slightly, "I think the shoes was a better plan in the long run."
Rabastan waved his hand to dull the nightlight further and pulled himself closer, wrapping an arm around his wife and signing as Perdy twisted in her sleep to snuggle around his middle. Kissing the top of her soft blonde head he was asleep in moments.
Severus was in his shop, which was not unusual. Since it had opened, he spent most of his time there, and had eventually decided to purchase the small flat above when it came onto the market, making it easier to carry on with tasks once the doors were closed. What was also not unusual was that he was ruminating with growing desperation, on what he could do to shut the witch next to him up. Hermione had only got there twenty minutes before, but her excited twittering had been none stop since the moment she walked through the door. It was throwing off his stock check as well as ratcheting his already tense nerves.
The bell above the door rang, cutting the witch off immediately as they both snapped their heads to the entrance expectantly. A short, balding man with an eccentrically styled robe and a pencil thin moustache stepped in, "I'm looking for-"
"Fuck off," Severus snapped in reply, patience at zero following his irritation with Hermione. The wizard blustered before leaving, swearing never to enter the store again, and Hermione burst into laughter as the door closed, finally letting go of the mirth she had been barely holding onto all morning.
"I take it that wasn't them then?" she said with mock innocence, and Severus narrowed his gaze at her.
"Really, Hermione, really?" he spat.
"Well, I don't know Severus, you've been so secretive," she retorted, eyes alive with amusement, before she went back to the labelling he had asked her to do, in the slim hope that she would do anything but bother him. "But seriously you should be nicer to customers, you don't exactly invite people to feel welcome, and that won't help trade," she chastised softly.
"Why thank you Mrs Dolohov, for your scintillating consultation on economics. Do I get these insights for free pray? Or should I be paying you on top of your day rate?"
"You don't pay me, Severus," Hermione grumbled, as she fiddled with the bottles on the desk.
"Oh yes that's right," he responded happily, writing down the appropriate number and whipping his wand to return some small amber jars back to the proper shelf.
"I didn't have to come in to cover for you today," Hermione retorted, hands on her hips, "Luna could have done it."
"No!" he snapped immediately.
"Why?" Hermione protested loudly, her grin giving away her attempt at ignorance, "She's great with people."
"She moved around everything when I went out last week; the entire stockroom was rearranged, I couldn't find anything and had to redo the whole bloody thing."
"Oh."
"Yes oh, and the dippy woman had done it in colour order, that room, my haven, that is dank by express design, looked like a fucking rainbow," he groused.
Hermione was still trying to suppress laughter when the bell rang again, and as before they turned towards it, only this time, it wasn't another customer.
Severus had met Astrid six months before when she had come into his shop, and they had disagreed over the potion ingredient she needed. Somewhere, in the midst of the half an hour they spent finding new ways to call each other incompetent Severus realised he was enjoying himself, and in an impromptu, and slightly inelegant way, he invited her for a drink, they had been seeing each other since. He hadn't introduced her to anyone in the circle yet, they were a tight group, and as much as he was fond of them, he felt protective of Astrid, his witch. Severus wanted to make sure she was comfortable, his rather sketchy plan had been to stage a brief meeting between her and Hermione, when they wouldn't feel like they were in a formal setting. So he had asked his friend to cover for him for a couple of hours that afternoon and asked Astrid to meet him at the shop. It would have been the perfect plan if it hadn't been clear that Hermione had sussed him automatically.
Severus would never have admitted it out loud it, but Hermione's good opinion was vital for him. Lily may have been his first friend, but Hermione had been his truest. It had taken him two years to get over her; he was pleased he could say, with honest sincerity, when he spoke to her on her wedding day, as she dragged him to dance, very much against his will, that he was happy for her. Sometimes he still had echoes of those feelings, when she said or did something specific, but in the main, his love for her was that of a friend, a very dear friend.
The speed and vehemence of his feelings for Astrid had taken Severus by surprise, she was in her late thirties and had been brought up in Germany, coming to the England after the fall of Voldemort to work for St Mungo's as a consultant Healer, specialising in diagnostic care.
When Astrid came through the door, and his best-laid plans were realised Severus found it difficult to speak, Hermione looked between them both and took control.
"Err, hi I'm Hermione, Severus' friend," she said, extending her hand to Astrid.
"Employee," he retorted, eyeing his from his side of the counter.
"Chum?" she tried.
"Colleague."
"BFF?" she pressed with a grin, and he scowled at her
Astrid looked at them with a smile, "Hello Hermione, I'm Astrid, Severus has told me all about you."
"Really?" she said excitedly, "he tells me nothing about you, no matter how much I hound him," she rattled off before putting her hand up to shield her mouth and whisper-yelled, "honestly I think he's quite smitten."
Astrid flushed, a beautiful pink bloom erupting on her cheeks and Severus mentally prepared a list of all the ingredients on the premises that would kill his chum in an instant.
In the end it was an hour before he departed for lunch, and though he groused about being sent away to get tea, when he came back to find the two witches sharing a joke Severus stopped for a moment, until they both turned to look at him with soft smiles. He covered his relief, surprise and gratitude with a cough and grumbling about being treated worse than a servant, but neither of the smiles aimed at him dimmed.
Severus had all he had ever wanted, he had never had ambitious plans for his life but he had exceeded them. He was safe, free, happy and even though he still struggled to comprehend how it had happened, he was loved.
Rodolphus ran after Perdita through the long grass at the back of his property. Considering she was so small, she was incredibly fast, and he was hindered in his gate as he was still trying to adjust to the new style of clothing Hermione had brought him. After he had settled into life on the farm, she had come over with a huge bag full of overalls and rubber boots she called 'wellies', bringing a set for herself and a tiny pair for Perdy so they could all trudge around the grounds together. Rodolphus didn't think he had ever been happier in his life than he was that day, after reluctantly donning the clothes and feeling a total fool he took them both on a tour, Hermione clutching the then tiny Perdy to her chest, while he pointed out all the improvements he had made and she listened excitedly.
Rodolphus saw his daughter once a week, a year previous she had finally taken up his offer of sitting in the Lestrange seat at the Wizengamot. They would discuss politics, reform, or just their lives, over tea or ale, that she was slowly getting him to like, as that was what proper farmers drunk, according to her.
Rodolphus thought back to when he had first found out about Hermione, how he had loved her instinctively, never even considering any other emotion, from the moment he had seen her in the Department of Mysteries he had known beyond any doubt, that she was his child, and he had loved her. Over the last five years, he had grown to like her on her own merit, for the witch she was, for her heart and most of all, for her failings. She was so like her mother it made his chest hurt sometimes, when he considered what might have been. Those thoughts were always quickly driven away; he had her now, she had given him another chance.
Rodolphus had just caught his niece and hauled her over his shoulder when he heard gate close in the distance. "Daadd!" Hermione called, and he spun immediately making Perdy giggle, his face broke into a broad smile at the sound of her address and the sight of his girl's curls bouncing as she ran over to them.
Hermione had only started calling him that a year before and it had all started fairly innocuously. They had been at 'family dinner' sitting beside each other, and she had turned, barely looking up at him from her plate, 'can you pass me the salt please Dad?'. The entire table had frozen in place, in time with the stopping of his own heart, a deep flush had fallen over Hermione's face, and she tried to apologise, the words getting confused as they streamed out of her mouth. Rodolphus had cut her off by gripping her hand tightly, and passing her the salt, 'here you are Hermione' he had said in response. He noticed a couple of tears fall down her cheeks as she reached for the cellar, whispering a barely audible 'thanks, Dad'. It had taken almost everything he had to not cry right along with her; he saved that till he was home and had worked his way through half a bottle of firewhisky, choking out happy tears and grinning till his face hurt.
Hermione made it over to them and scooped her cousin out of his arms. "Hello perfect girl," she sing songed as she gave Perdy a fierce hug, "Is someone looking forward to her party this weekend?"
"YES!" Perdy called, "Ducks, Auntie Mi!" she screamed as she wriggled from Hermione's grasp and dragged them towards the pond. The 'ducks' had been a gift from Yaxley, who had somehow procured five black swans and two dwarf white ones. Reuben had found this joke incredibly funny and liked to wind Hermione up about the stature of the white birds in particular. When they had come back a week after the ducks had been rehomed, it was to find one of the black swans had taken a shine to the bird Perdy referred to as 'Mi duck', and was keeping her boxed into one end of the pond, away from the others. The Northern wizard had laughed till he was almost sick.
Perdita skipped off to the water's edge, knowing by now from their many, many conversations on the subject not to go any further and he turned to Hermione.
"What brings you out here during the week?"
She reached into the pocket of her overalls and pulled out a single piece of paper, handing it over to him, as Rodolphus looked at her pensive face, lip caught between her teeth with some trepidation. When he turned the parchment over he felt the air leave his body in a single rush. "Is this?" he asked softly, his brain not capable of a full sentence.
"Yes," she affirmed, her eyes brimming with tears, but a smile beginning to tug at her lips.
Very uncharacteristically Rodolphus leapt forward, lifting Hermione off the ground and spinning her around until she screamed, he let her feet touch the floor but pulled her to him tighter. "When did you find out?" he spoke, stunned by the awe like quality to his voice.
"Today. I came here from the healers; I wanted you to know first," she said, her face splitting into an excited grin.
He did cry then; he couldn't have done a thing in the world to stop the flow of tears that left his eyes. Rodolphus dropped a kiss to her forehead. "You have made me so happy Hermione."
"Thank you, Dad," she coughed, "but no telling, I want to tell Antonin after the party ok?"
"Won't he be angry that you told me first?"
"Maybe a little, but I… I wanted to give you this."
He nodded and hugged her again, "Thank you, love, just… thank you."
Perdy rushed over again, eager for attention which Hermione happily gave her. Rodolphus looked back down at the parchment in his grasp and then across at the girls playing in the grass before he roughly wiped away the tears that had escaped his eyes and released a watery chuckle.
Hermione ran through the halls of the Ministry, dodging anyone who might want to speak to her with shouted apologies called out over her shoulder. The emergency session that morning had come as a complete surprise, setting her back her preparations, not that there was a great deal left to do. She made it to the floo and hurried through into the townhouse straight into Antonin's study, to find him regarding her panting form and disarrayed robes with soft humour. "Where's the fire wife?" he called teasingly.
Hermione sighed, "Antonin you know what today is, why are you not ready?"
"I am ready," he replied with mock affront, gesturing to his burgundy robes, "I'm just waiting for you."
Hermione huffed before heading to the bedroom; she had chosen a beautiful white sundress for the day, it was simple, though the colour was probably a bad choice considering it was a children's party. Her dad had managed to put down some decking in one of the fields, close to the farmhouse, and a tent for all of the food and to escape the sun, which meant she could wear her sandals. She took immense care in dressing, not because she worried about her appearance as a general rule, but she was apprehensive about having some of the others there, not that she expected any comments, these people were her friends, but she couldn't help but remember some of the harsh words of the Prophet over the years, it was enough to make her want to present an image of how fine she was.
They were all nervous about the day, and it was manifesting itself in different ways. Antonin had been hovering the whole week, they had been together so long now, and had done so much for each other, it wasn't like he doubted her constancy but pressure somehow could make him forget himself, get him to think that someone could say something that would make her want to reconsider her choices. It would never happen.
Hermione winced as she tried to clear her mind for the third time to place the glamour on her arm, it was too hot for a cardigan. As she was attempting to centre herself yet again, a firm hand gripped her around the wrist, and her husband pulled her body into his before reaching over her to cast the charm himself. They both watched the magic dissolve into her skin before looking at each other in the mirror in front of them.
"You don't usually wear that?" Antonin said carefully, eyeing her face and dropping his head to the exposed flesh of her shoulder, his short beard itching in a way that made her stomach tighten.
"Not with family," Hermione corrected, leaning her head against him.
He nodded, "Are you still sure it was best to invite them?"
"Yes," she lied, "it's best for Perdita."
He nodded again, "I know," he murmured, before nuzzling into her neck, "I just hate you wearing that thing."
"I know," Hermione crooned, turning in his grasp to kiss his face.
Not even an hour later, Hermione was running around at her dad's small holding, arranging food and helping Luna with the final preparations before the guests began arriving. Reuben had come earlier and was assisting with the movement of furniture with Antonin. Her dad was busy, trying to talk a pony into wearing a bow and Severus was coming along later with Astrid, he had suggested bringing her before everyone got there but Hermione had headed him off. The last thirty minutes before a party was hardly the best time to meet a new group of people, emotions were running high and Luna had already gone against type by screaming at Yaxley for a seemingly harmless comment he made.
Luna and Hermione were just finishing the cake when the floo activated, and Rabastan walked through, holding hands with Perdita. Hermione's eyes widened comically when she took in the sight of them. Luna had decided that it would make her daughter happy to have a fancy dress party, she had been shouted down, rather forcefully, when she had suggested extending that dress code to the adults. Luna had told Hermione earlier that Rabastan had been working on Perdy's costume with his daughter for weeks, in secret, which was why she now couldn't understand how she was looking at her cousin covered in purple balloons. To the extent that all she could see of her were her little legs poking out of the bottom and her face from the nose up, the top of her head covered in paper leaves.
"What is that?" she asked stunned.
"It's a costume, Hermione," Rabastan answered shortly, seemingly bemused at her tone.
"That's not a costume Rabastan," she said, her voice heightening in disbelief.
"What are you talking about? Of course, it's a costume. She's a Berry," he retorted while pointing down at her, Perdita raised her head to smile broadly at her 'Auntie Mi', her face looking suspiciously like she had already been at quite a lot of sweets while in her father's sole care.
As Rabastan moved passed them to let Perdy outside, Hermione called after him, "How is she going to sit down?" He mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like 'details'.
The party had gone off well despite Hermione's more negative expectations. Harry and Ginny had come along with their three children and Ron with his two. Hermione didn't see much of Ron anymore, Harry and Ginny she still saw semi-regularly, mostly down to the redhead's enthusiasm to escape her young brood from time to time, but in any case, she was grateful to see her friends. Fleur and Bill were also there, representing the Weasleys, their two young children had run around like lunatics, and Hermione and Antonin had laughed together over Yaxley's over the top flirting with Fleur, causing Bill to growl loudly. Ever the sensitive soul that triggered Reuben to slip werewolf puns into almost every conversation when in the redhead's earshot, bad werewolf puns.
The only one not there was Neville. Hermione had bumped into him a few times since the war, each time more distressing than the last until, after a tearful conversation, they had decided to make an effort not to see each other as much as possible. She heard from Ginny that he had married Hannah Abbott, and the pair had just had their second baby, it hurt her not to be part of his life but she understood it, she couldn't change her decision.
A few of Luna's friends from The Quibbler had made it along, and there were all kinds of acquaintances dotted about as well as, most unexpectedly, Malfoy. After helping her with the trials, herself and Draco had remained in a sort of indirect contact, occasionally having a rather formal tea together after Wizengamot sessions. He had gotten married to Astoria Greengrass shortly after Antonin's release, who Hermione thought was just lovely, and their son Scorpius was around the same age as Perdy. When Hermione spotted the familiar white hair across the grass, she felt the tall form of Antonin begin to shake behind her with poorly suppressed laughter. "What is it?" she whispered, anxious to know what had caused such a rare response from him.
"Look down solnyshko," he said, right into her ear.
When Hermione did, she had a much harder time of keeping herself in check. Standing at the side of his father, Scorpius Malfoy was the model of a pureblood future scion, steely face, straight-back, undeniable poise, disdainful expression, and dressed as a fucking apple.
"Fruit salad," Antonin deadpanned, and it was the last straw, Hermione laughed till she was nearly on her knees, her mirth helped along when Rabastan noticed his daughter skipping along with Scorpius moments later and went chalk white.
Draco marched to her side, scowling at her. "Don't laugh Granger."
Antonin sneered, "Dolohov."
"Fine don't laugh, Dolohov," Draco amended with an exasperated roll of the eyes. "I brought him perfect dress robes for the occasion, but he made that monstrosity with my wife, and refused to leave the house in anything else, he can be so bloody precious at times, I have no idea where he gets it from."
"Really Malfoy, you have none?" she asked incredulously.
It was very late by the time Hermione climbed the stairs to bed, Antonin had stayed behind to speak to Yaxley, and she was in desperate need of another shower. She walked past all of the pictures on the wall, silently adding to her mental list that they needed to get some newer ones added.
When Hermione made it into their bedroom, she reached into her nightstand and pulled out her latest book, before walking over to Antonin's side of the bed, kicking off her heels in the process. She sat on the edge, looking at the small collection of photos he had there, a picture of his parents, a couple of the pair of them smiling at the camera on their various adventures, and a tiny folded frame with two sides, both filled with the pictures he had taken from the Prophet all those years ago. The images were badly faded after his time in Azkaban, and she supposed he could have easily replaced them, but they meant so much more than the mere likenesses they presented.
To Hermione, they were symbols of his instant devotion, his constancy, and the adversity they had overcome. Her whole life had changed because of this man, but even before that, she had been set on a different path when her mother had asked her to open her mind, and her heart, to other people. Without that conversation none of this, her life as it was, would ever have happened, Hermione would never have known this sublime happiness.
It was that thought that had finally allowed Hermione to forgive her mother, and almost forgive herself for what she had done to save them. Because of the woman Jean Granger was, she had made Hermione receptive to the life she now had, one filled with endless possibilities and love.
Hermione reached for her book and opened the hardcover, the pages instantly falling to reveal a small piece of paper, the same piece that she had shown Rodolphus earlier in the week, she hoped the reaction would be just as positive.
Touching the border delicately Hermione's eyes fell on the little graph on the side, tracking the rise and fall of the twin heartbeats, and she placed her hand on her stomach as she positioned the sonogram in front of Antonin's treasured pictures before disappearing into the shower.
A/N A lot of things changed from my initial outline, mostly thanks to some of the fantastic reviews I had from readers feeding back about bits they liked, etc. Very sincere thanks to everyone that has read this fic, and big hugs to all of you that have reviewed, added to favourites or followed, it does make a difference to motivation when you see that notification in your inbox. Pictures of You was my first ever fanfic story, inspired by The Cure song of the same name.
For all of you that have become fans of grumpy, rude, sweary, sexy Yaxley my next story will feature him. Post-War tale Renovate is now available on my page.