Hermione glared at the notebook in front of her. While it was nice to write on something besides a scroll, she had gotten used to using a quill years ago. The pen in her hand was awkward, a reminder of the distance she'd allowed to grow between herself and the Muggle world she was raised in. Her scribbles were near-illegible and she'd been pushed to tears more than once while taking notes.
Quantum mechanics was complicated. It felt like the first time she was exposed to magic: her understanding of the world was being ripped apart by something that a small group of people considered elementary. The equations she was dealing with were nothing compared to the work that others had done. This was basic practice work and it was already mind-blowing and so detail-oriented that she felt ready to implode at times.
She loved it.
Still, she glared at the notebook before her and crossed her arms. She was already prepared to take a break when Mr. Jarvis entered the library as quietly as ever.
"You have a guest, miss."
Hermione blinked. A guest? In Tony's home? "Oh. Well, er…"
"I suggest you meet him in the living room," Mr. Jarvis said with an indulgent smile. Hermione really had no idea how things were done around here.
After escorting her to the living room, Mr. Jarvis left briefly to retrieve her guest. Tony arrived, no doubt having seen the visitor on some camera. When Mr. Jarvis returned, Hermione fought back a sigh.
"Professor Slughorn," she said with faux enthusiasm, "what a surprise!" She wanted nothing more than to sink into the plush seat behind her and ignore the situation before her. Her two lives were coming together, something she had been steadfastly ignoring the ever-increasing probability of since she'd first collapsed on Tony's front patio.
"Miss Granger—"
"Stark, actually," Tony interrupted coolly. "She's been adopted. One famous name for another, you know."
"Miss… well, Hermione," Professor Slughorn said brightly, "our letters have been unable to reach you, and I wanted to make sure you got the good news before the beginning of term!"
She fought back a wince. "Tony, please step outside."
He groaned. "But I don't wanna miss it."
"I'll have a cigar with you later if you leave right now," she said, maintaining eye contact with the professor as his expression shifted in disbelief. "See about dinner or something."
Mr. Jarvis had already left at some point and Tony quickly slipped out the door with a murmured, "Let me know when you need anything." Not if: when. She nodded and waited until the lab door downstairs clicked shut behind him to continue talking to the professor.
She steeled herself for the conversation ahead. "I won't be coming back this fall, professor."
His jaw dropped. "But— you're— Miss Granger, you—"
"Stark," Hermione reminded him. "I hope to continue learning, but not at Hogwarts." The words to this speech were memorized, although she'd planned to submit it in writing upon receiving her school letter. "I hope that I'll still be able to write you with questions on the finer points of potions?"
His expression softened at the implied flattery, but he was still twisting his hands nervously. "It's just that you're — well, you're Head Girl."
Hermione's heart stopped in her chest. She'd wanted to be Head Girl since she'd first heard of the position in her first year. To guide the youngest students of Hogwarts was the greatest honor she could think of.
Rather, it had been the greatest honor she could think of. "I think it would be best if the position went to someone else." Someone students could and would actually approach for help, she thought with reproach. Even if she wanted to be Head Girl, there was no way students would treat her anything like a normal Prefect anymore. "I don't think a traumatized war heroine is a good fit."
He grimaced. "I'm so sorry," he said, and she almost believed him. "I didn't… didn't realize."
How could you not? Hermione thought acidly. She bit back the harsh words, but harsh were the only words she could find and they sat instead in awkward silence.
"Well," the professor said. "Well."
"I'm sorry you came all this way for bad news." A beat. "You said you were sending letters that didn't make it here?"
"Yes," he said, grasping tightly to the new topic. "We tried sending many, but they always returned. Letters to Miss Hermione Granger, to Ms. Hermione Granger, to Hermione Granger, to London, to nowhere specific… all of them returned with very confused owls."
Hermione hummed. "Perhaps magic has acknowledged my name change." It would mean that she truly considered herself a Stark. Something to think about later. "Tony was just a family friend, but he's adopted me as a sister as best he can."
Professor Slughorn didn't seem to know what to make of that. "I, er, I'm glad that you've expanded your family, then."
The words were like a pierce to the chest. What would her parents think of her closer relationship with Tony? Would they think he was a bad influence on her? Would they point out the impact his smoking had on his teeth? Or would they be glad that in their absence she had found another family member to lean on? Harry said he spoke to his parents from beyond the grave as he walked to his death. What would her parents say to her?
"Well, professor," she said, blinking back tears. "I think this discussion is over. Unfortunately, you'll have to find a new Head Girl, because I won't be attending Hogwarts in the fall. Please give — give everyone my love." 'Everyone' seemed to carry a different weight to it now that so many were gone.
"Of course, of course." He stood and extended a hand toward her, which she took for the briefest shake possible. "Miss Gr— Stark, I'm glad you're doing well. We'll all miss you this year."
"Thank you, professor," she said in that tone of dismissal she'd learned from her grandmother and seen Tony deliver so often and was pleased when it worked. The older man bowed his head in acknowledgment and turned on his heel, Apparating away with a loud crack.
Immediately, Tony — who was clearly eavesdropping — slammed open the door, making Hermione jump in the seat she'd just retaken and her right hand twitch towards her wand. "Heard the good news," he said proudly. "I'm proud of you, little sis." She could kill him. "And I'm so glad magic confirmed what we already know!"
"We don't know that for sure," Hermione argued without much heat. "The redirection could be something left over from all the warding we did during…" He stilled the hands that were itching toward the cigar refrigerator and let her pause without interruption. "Well, who knows." It was technically a question but said more like a statement.
"I seem to remember being promised a cigar," Tony said lightly. He turned back to the small fridge and ran his fingers along the shelves before aha-ing and pulling something out. When he turned back to face her it was revealed to be two cigars wrapped together by a deep red paper ribbon. "Jamaican!"
Hermione let the corners of her lips quirk up. "Don't people typically prefer Cuban?"
"People typically have no taste," Tony said rudely.
"Jamaican it is, then," Hermione said mildly, accepting the cigar awkwardly. She no longer held it 'incorrectly' ("It's not a joint," Tony had said after a guffaw), but it still felt unnatural in her hand. "So, what do you really think about all this?"
Tony gave her a look like she was being an idiot. "I'm happy to have as my sister. Really."
She bit her lip and looked away as he lit his own cigar. "What about the fall term?"
"Fall semester," he said, "and what about it?"
"When do you want me to — to leave?" It was the question that had been burning for the last months. He was putting her up while she had nowhere to go, but eventually he'd need her to clear out so he could get back to his life. Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. That was what he was, and there was no room for a little sister to be hanging around ruining the playboy aspect.
He furrowed his brows. "You don't have to leave." He offered the lighter and she put her lips to the cigar, letting him light it for her. Inhaling burned her mouth and she thought vaguely of cancer. "What made you think you have to leave?"
She released the cigar and blew out smoke. Tony could do tricks with rings, but she was just lucky not to cough. "I can't stay here forever."
"Sure you can." It was a statement, but he said it more like a question. "Unless you don't want to."
"I don't want to impose," she said, stressing the last word. "It isn't right for me to stay here, taking your money and—"
"You're not taking it," he interrupted, "I'm giving it to you. Against your will, I might add."
It was true. She'd been fighting tooth and nail for him to stop buying her expensive things. She felt every inch the gold-digger some of the tabloids were making her out as and he seemed to read it in her expression. He sighed heavily. "You're not a gold-digger. You're not using me. If anything, I'm using you. I've always wanted to play with dolls, but daddy never let me," he drawled. "Playing dress-up with you is the next best thing."
She snorted through tears. "You're very good at objectifying women."
"Shut up." He set his cigar in an ashtray and took hers as well, then gripped her hands tightly. He always did that when he was being serious, like he could communicate what he was saying via osmosis. "You're my family now. Let me treat you like family. You're…" He swallowed thickly. "You're the sister I never had. Even magic knows it: you're a Stark now."
"So you have to spoil me rotten?"
"Yes," he said, as though that were the most obvious thing in the world.
She considered his words. She hadn't realized what she was bringing to the table for Tony. It still didn't feel like enough to outweigh the expensive jewelry, the salon appointments, the personal shoppers, but she could begin to understand where he was coming from. Even if it made no sense. "Fine."
"Fine?"
"Fine," she confirmed, "but I have conditions."
"Name 'em," said Tony seriously.
"I get my own study. I can't handle your library," she complained. "And you have to run jewelry purchases by me first."
He dropped her hands and leaned back in his chair, his signal that he was done being serious if she was. "You don't like the stuff I get you?" he asked indignantly.
"I don't do silver," she said with a tiny smile, "and diamonds are gaudy."
He narrowed his eyes, but they still betrayed his amusement. "Anything else?"
"Get Mr. Jarvis to see a doctor." Mr. Jarvis had been weak lately, looking more frail in old age than ever before. "Mrs. Jarvis is doing her best, but he's being stubborn."
"He's British," Tony complained. "I'm not sure I have a chance."
"Guilt trip him if you need to." No one ever said Hermione wasn't ruthless in getting what she wanted. "Fire him and adopt him, too, for all I care, but he can't be working in his condition."
"I don't know what he'd do if I fired him," he admitted. "I guess I could work out a severance package."
"Just get him to a doctor," Hermione said quietly. "You don't have to fire him."
"Yet," said Tony.
He proposed a toast to Mr. Jarvis's health and they did so with Macallan 20. After, he re-lit the cigars they'd left to sit and they sat in silence for the rest of the evening.
Hermione went to bed fully aware that she'd lost their negotiations, but it was with a warmth in her chest at the idea that Tony wanted her here. She had a home again.