The Progeny Law of 1998
Harry Potter Fanfiction Crossover
Hermione/Mult.
Antonin Dolohov, Thorfinn Rowle, Sirius Black, Malcom Baddock (5th year – 16, Slytherin), Charlie Weasley, Alexander Poliakoff
Chapter 1
Hermione sipped her tea, mentally preparing herself for the upcoming war memorial ceremonies that were to be held within the following weeks. As she moved to pick up The Daily Prophet, her hands shook hard enough to slosh the milky tea over the edges of the fine porcelain. She sat the cup down on the table with an urgency that ended up shattering the china with the impact.
"Brilliant," she groaned, wiping her hands over her face after a muttered Scourgify that nearly pealed the first layer of her skin off. She hissed in pain, blowing on the sting.
Giving up on the idea of her morning tea, she went back to the paper, skimming over the articles. An image of Kingsley Shacklebolt standing tall and proud as he delivered his rousing and passionate speech from the day before. She remembered it clearly since she'd been there, along with Harry and Ron. The Ministry had been quite insistent on the presence of the Golden Trio at any of the public events to soothe the population after the devastating end to the Second Wizarding War.
The blood hadn't even finished soaking into the soil at Hogwarts before the new interim Minister, a shrewd and political man, had created a special task force for damage control. Unfortunately, since Kingsley had been put in charge of the Aurors, the Minister had roped him into spearheading the publicity to reassure the delicate wizarding world of its safety.
She snorted in disgust, attempting to smooth out the tremors that had started up once more so that she could focus on the tiny print. After a second of failure, she gave up and spread the paper flat on the coffee table and leaned forward to peruse the articles.
Under the recap of Kingsley's speech from the day before, a smaller section featuring the work of Percy Weasley on organizing repairs and reparations to those businesses hit hardest took up the remaining space of the bottom left corner while a short interview featuring all three of the Golden Trio's thoughts about said reparations took up the right.
Two weeks, and they still made the front page.
She sighed, studying the picture of the three of them as they clustered together.
It hadn't been taken from the short interview, but instead appropriated from a shot taken at Kingsley's speech. On loop, she saw Harry lean in close to her while Ron joined in from the other side. Small smiles pulled at their lips as they shared a look before glancing back out to the crowd. He'd been pointing out someone that had lit off a Weasley Wizarding Wheezes product during the question-and-answer portion of the event, disrupting the statement-starved reporters. Harry had mentioned that Fred would've been proud.
Despite the small amusement dancing on their lips, the emotion never reached their eyes.
So many of her close friends had that dead, numbed look in their eyes because they'd all fought directly in the final battle. Though, Harry's eyes had lightened their burden considerably since the last week, Ron still mourned the loss of a brother, and Hermione had only discovered that her parents' memory wipe would be irreversible.
She flipped the page, scanning through the rest of the rubbish that consisted of new policies or laws to show that the Interim Minister of Magic, Digby Claiborne, was hard at work to restore Wizarding Britain.
Still, she kept up on the laws and happenings. It'd become habit to scan the movements within the Ministry ever since the Muggleborn Registration Act. Coupled with the Anti-Werewolf Registration laws of '93, both technically attributed to Dolores Umbridge, Hermione wanted to be on the uptake with where things might be headed—especially since Umbridge hadn't been thrown in Azkaban, and merely demoted to a lackey position within the Ministry.
She sighed, wishing she had tea but too lazy to get up and fix another to replace the one that spilled.
"Wow, it must be a rough morning," Harry called, gaining her attention. "Two sighs in five minutes."
He leaned in the doorway to the library, his arms folded across his sleepwear clad chest, messy mop of black hair more disheveled than usual.
"It's actually her third," a deeper voice called from behind her, making her gasp and spin around, only to see Sirius sipping a tea on a wingback chair near the window.
She frowned at the Black heir. "How long have you been there?"
His grey eyes studied her. "Don't give me that look, kitten. I was here first. I can't help it that you didn't notice me here."
"Still, you could've said something."
The Marauder's face twinkled in amusement. "And where's the fun in that?"
She let out a frustrated sigh.
After being on the run, she normally wouldn't be able to have anyone at her back without feeling unease race up and down her spine. War-honed instincts had been one of the few things that helped them survive. However, as they'd learned since their visit to the Department of Mysteries a week ago, Sirius' presence didn't trip any of her normal warnings.
"Bloody bond," she muttered to herself, turning back to the table.
Harry chuckled, entering the room. "Such language, Mione."
She studied her closest friend through narrowed eyes as he plopped onto a sofa without a care in the world. "I think Sirius is having a negative influence on you, Harry."
"Bollocks!" Sirius protested, getting to his feet and joining them at the seating area arranged around the coffee table. He waved his hand and repaired the cup she hadn't bothered trying to fix.
She'd been lucky enough to clear the spilled tea without also vanishing the table and carpet—or her hand, she thought, eyeing the still red and irritated skin thoughtfully.
Under Sirius's masterful direction, the broken pieces swirled artistically and seamlessly fused themselves back together. "I could never be a bad influence on my godson."
As if to contradict his own outrageous claim, Harry sat up and gave her an identical, mischievous smirk from next to his godfather—a fact of which she made sure to point out the Black heir.
Sirius' smirk stretched into a wide smile at seeing Harry's carefree amusement before he turned back to Hermione. "You should've thought of that before you pulled me from the Veil, luv. If he becomes a full-fledged Marauder, you have no one to blame but yourself."
She rolled her eyes at his favorite excuse. He'd been back a week and used it more than his Sirius-serious pun. "I've half a mind to send you back. I don't like being snuck upon, but you seem to get a sick enjoyment out of it."
"I'm afraid it's too late to return me now." He held up his wrist with the magical tattoo identical to hers. "You're stuck with me for life. Of course, that's how Life Debts work, of which I'm sure you were well aware of before you even brought your plan up to Harry. Brightest witch of your age, you don't do things by halves."
Hermione deflated a bit, sending him a small, authentic smile. "I'm aware."
Her magic had been wonky ever since she pulled him from the Veil, and no one had been able to figure out why. She didn't want Sirius to think she regretted anything. All joking aside, he'd felt guilty ever since the healers hadn't been able to figure out how to fix it.
After the highly documented resurrection of a cleared war hero, they'd only been able to surmise that it'd had something to do with the Life Debt she'd used to call Sirius from the other side. Since no one had thought to use a Life Debt quite like that before, she'd had to pitch her idea to several departments in the Ministry before ever getting the chance to step foot in the Death Room.
But after the news of the permanent loss of her parents' memories, not even all the bureaucracy had impeded her determination to fix at least one right, and Hermoine had the clearance in a week.
Sirius held her gaze, studying her expression and masking any of his own.
"Hermione," Harry called, breaking her from the stare.
"Yes, Harry?"
He'd also taken on a serious tone. "I can't say it enough, but thank you for bringing him back. I don't know what I'd do without him. You gave me back part of my family."
She smiled at him. "It was no—"
"Dammit witch, don't say it was no problem. It was a big, bloody problem. You can't even cast a simple Reparo since you brought me back using your Life Debt."
Most of the spells left in her ability to use were ones that they'd used on the run—ones that she'd performed so much that she'd mastered wandlessly after the Battle at Godric's Hollow when they'd been down a wand.
She eyed him. "Is that why you've been hovering so much?"
"You don't even have your wand on you this morning. It's like you've given up," Sirius all but scolded. "How can you work tirelessly for a solution even when others tell you it's impossible, but when it comes to yourself, you give up after a few days?"
"I've not given up," she defended.
Sirius sighed and ran his hands through his long, black locks. "You do know how Life Debts are supposed to work, right?"
"I think we've established that I researched them thoroughly, yes."
He let out a frustrated sigh.
Oh dear, her sighs were catching on.
"You saved me from execution, so why are you the one paying the sacrifice? My magic's never been better—in fact, it's stronger than ever before, and yet you can't cast third year charms."
She bit back the resentment that tried to bubble up at the truth of his statement. Of course, none of this was his fault, so she had no right. "Sirius, you did have to make a sacrifice. You're bound to me—for life." She unsheathed her own matching bond mark, also uncovering the last two bloodied letters from Bellatrix's knifework in the process. "At least I had a choice about taking the risks. You didn't."
"And I already told you that I don't care if I'm bonded to you—"
"And I already told you that I would do this all again if it meant getting you back," she argued.
Sirius eyed her before leaning back in his chair. "Stubborn witch."
"Get used to it. We're stuck with each other, don't you know?"
Harry snorted at that, and some of the darkness crept back out of Sirius' stare.
He shook his head, a smile creeping on his lips. "Well, I'm stubborn too, so you better get used to my hovering. You need anything, a drying charm, a heating spell, a Wingardium Leviosa to bring you your socks in the morning so your feet don't have to touch the cold floor, then I'm your wizard."
She wondered if this was his way of atoning. "You're rather tall for a House Elf."
"Charming too," he retorted with a flirtatious wink.
"Ew, stop, Padfoot. We've talked about this before," Harry grouched, getting up and crossing to the oversized chair she'd perched on. He lifted her up and sat under her so that he could glance over the paper with her. "No flirting with Mione."
Hermione felt the blush reach all the way to her curly roots. "Harry, have you actually warned your godfather—a man old enough to be my father—" Sirius's 'Oi' of protest went ignored. "-not to flirt with me?"
Harry frowned up at her, his jade gaze showing uncertainty. "I'm confused. You want him to flirt with you?"
Her mouth opened and closed for a second before she snapped, "That's not the point. The point is that you and Ron can't keep chasing guys away from me. We're not in school anymore, and you can't keep scaring off all the guys."
"We don't scare off all—"
"Really? Just this week, Blaise Zabini."
"I know not all Slytherins are evil, but do you really have to give me such grey hairs dating a snake this early after the war?" Harry frowned, wrinkling his nose. "Besides, he wears too much cologne. And he takes longer doing his hair in the mornings than you do."
"Anthony Goldstein."
Harry's expression darkened. "He flirted with you at the Hogwarts Memorial Ceremony. You were crying. Our friends' and family's names were being read, for Godric's sake. What kind of classless, insensitive-"
"Okay, fine. Seamus Finnegan."
"He was trying to pick you up at the Leaky, Hermione. Everyone knows that no good guys pick up girls at a pub!"
"He's not some random stranger. We've gone to school with him for seven years!"
"Okay, fine. But that was just—"
"Harry James Potter, you will stop chasing away every single guy that shows even the slightest interest in me, or so help me, I will find a way to get around my magical disruption and curse your hair Slytherin green. I might not be interested in guys yet with all the grieving and mourning still happening, but it's my choice."
He held his hands up. "Fine, fine. I'll back off. I'll let guys flirt with you."
"Good."
"So, you can get a date."
"Thank you."
Harry was quiet a moment before he scratched his chin. "You know, if you wanted to date Sirius, you could've just said so."
"Are you serious?" she asked, her mouth dropping open.
Sirius cleared his throat, deciding that now was a good time to rejoin the vicious tennis match their conversation had devolved to. "Ah, actually, I'm Sirius—"
Hermione sighed, closing her eyes at leaving herself wide open for that one.
"And," he continued, "I'd be more than happy to take you—"
She stared at him in shock. "You can't be seri—"
His mouth opened, and his eyes sparkled as he prepared to give his pun once more.
She really was off her game this morning. She'd nearly done it twice, back-to-back. "Don't," she pointed her finger at the mischievous heir, sparks actually flying off the tip.
"Don't what? Sirius, don't date you?" Harry asked on behalf of his godfather with a frown.
"What? Harry, I—I—that's not what I'm—" she broke off, finally noticing the devilish grin that had started to overtake her best friend's face when he couldn't hold back his amusement any longer.
She scoffed and knocked him across the chest. Her smug satisfaction at his wince became tempered by the devilish grin that crossed his own face.
With a huff, she turned back to The Daily Prophet. Harry leaned forward, propping his chin on her shoulder to skim the articles as well.
By the fourth page, Harry had grown bored and swiped the Quidditch section from the middle and leaned back to prop it up on her back like a table.
"Hey," he called. "Did you hear? Krum helped the Vrasta Vultures win against the Holyhead Harpies? If they keep this up, they might have a good chance at making the World Cup again."
"No, I hadn't heard," she replied in a bored tone, leaning closer to examine a small article on the bottom corner of the fifth page. The paper propped on her back crinkled with her movement, and Harry had to swipe her thick mane of curls out of his way once more before he could go back to reading.
"What do you mean you haven't heard? Don't you still write to him?"
"Yes, but we don't really talk much about Quidditch." She frowned at what she read, wondering if it could be a prank, despite the curl of unease swirling in her gut.
"Harry," Sirius started, sitting upright from his sprawled position. "Did you just imply that our Hermione is pen pals with a Quidditch player from a national team?"
Harry's head shot up, his eyes lighting up. "Oh, that's right. I never told you, and you were still on the Ministry's most wanted list. In fifth year, Mione—" He paused, frowning as Hermione jumped up from his lap. "Hermione?"
"I'm sorry, Harry, Sirius. Excuse me. I have to run to the Ministry."
Both Harry and Sirius jumped to their feet at her frantic movements.
"What's going on, Mione?"
"How will you get there, kitten? Can I escort you?"
"Accio Wand," she called, catching her wand when it flew to her. She grinned with satisfaction.
That'd been one of the first wandless spells the trio had learned during their time on the run. It'd been recommended by Moody as an essential skill and undisputed lifesaver.
"It's probably nothing," she said with a frown. "I just want to speak to Mr. Weasley or Kingsley to see if they know more."
"More about what?" Harry called, immediately glancing down at newspaper spread out on the coffee table. She always got this way right after reading something to spark a train of thought. The problem was, she'd usually been so far on the tracks already that it would be hard to figure out what spark of information had set off the blaze.
A quick perusal didn't show anything jumping out at him.
He heard the sound of the Floo activating.
"Ministry of Magic," she shouted before a crackling swoosh spread out to denote her departure.
Harry let out a sigh, dropping back down and wondering which of the dozen articles could've caused her such concern.
"What was that all about?" Sirius asked, frowning at the doorway she'd disappeared out of.
Harry paused. "I'm not sure, but I have a bad feeling that we're going to find out soon."
His eyes lingered over the latest and most updated consensus after the war. People were still being rounded up left and right for their crimes, and deceased were still getting catalogued. The first week after the war, they'd stopped typing the death tolls, and instead started listing the current population—at least, according to Minister Digby Claiborne.
Harry shook his head at the numbers in disbelief, sharing them with Sirius.
"The price of war," Sirius sighed with sadness. "It's always too much."