Two
Libra
The orchards are peaceful.
Morning dew dampens the ground, and the air hangs heavy with the cloying sweetness of ripening fruit.
Mid-morning sun warms her back as Hermione walks the grounds, a quill in her hand and parchment on a flat slab, greeting the elves who work diligently to care for the trees. Only disturbed by the occasional small rabbit or bowtruckle scurrying past, she inspects the harvest while plucking several of each fruit for the orphans as treats.
A whisper of rain shifts the breeze.
Hermione dismisses the elves and returns to the estate where today's grain awaits inspection.
"You shouldn't do that."
Fist over her racing heart, Hermione turns.
Then exhales through a smile. "You startled me!"
"Apologies." Her father's hazel eyes are as warm as his voice, and amusement tips the corner of his lips. "But you should allow the staff to handle the count."
Dressed to travel into town, his cane is a constant companion, bearing all the weight he cannot since suffering an injury during his service as a knight. As the Duke, it is his duty to see to the people in each town in their duchy. The task will take a full day. He should be gone already but as a rule, Potters never leave without saying goodbye. His late departure means he will not return until well into the night.
"Hermione, love, at least allow Maximilian to conduct the count during the harvest so he will not complain about being reduced to a common farm elf."
What her father does not know is that she sent him to tend to the livestock hours ago. The chore will only further sour his mood, but the foreman is always cross with her.
"I like order and you are much too busy."
Hermione inspects the barley.
It is excellent.
"Yes, but as a Lady, you must assist your mother with managing the staff of elves. Tonight you both are to dine with the Viscount and Viscountess Weasley. She will need all the assistance your presence provides to avoid wincing as the Viscountess reads every new letter she has received from each of her children."
It will take hours.
They have seven.
Hermione is closest to Ron and Ginny. There was a time when she was close to Percy, who challenged her mind. But she has not seen the newly appointed Royal Historian since refusing his hand in marriage.
"Your mother needs your presence."
"Father…"
"Hermione…" he mocks with a playful nudge. "You should help your mother with preparing for the dinner or perhaps you can work on your embroidery or dancing. How about a new book? I know how much you enjoy reading."
"I do." But the prospect of a new book is not enough to keep her from squinting in suspicion. "Did Mother send you to talk to me?"
"Of course." The corner of her father's eyes crinkle in amusement. "You have not sparred with her in over a fortnight. She has missed it."
"You mean she misses besting me."
They both grin and Father wraps an arm around her shoulder. "And I miss stirring trouble with you, so I eagerly look forward to my return."
"I promise not to free any goblin-held dragons until you return."
"And?"
Hermione sighs. "I won't bother the bridge troll, but if he chases my students I'll be forced to act."
"Naturally." Father's grin takes a mischievous edge. "Use the spell I taught you to break the wood beneath his feet. It will send him falling into the river and he'll gorge on fish until he falls asleep. If your mother finds out and asks—"
"You told me nothing."
"This is why you are my favourite daughter."
"I am your only daughter, Father."
"That does not make you any less favoured!"
At best, Hermione's upbringing has been unconventional, but the word does not fully encompass Duke and Duchess Potter. Different from others of their station, they march to the beat of their own drum in many ways. Fair and just, they hold the same expectations for the lower nobles under their rule, and extend equal kindness to peasants as they do elves.
While the Potter name may now be synonymous with the title of Duke and Duchess, it is the newest addition to the kingdom, and the only one not a relative of the current king. Father's grandfather was the first to hold the title after purchasing the land from the crown for an obscene price. To this day, they're charged an excess grain tax, due whenever the palace elves appear.
But she doesn't know much about the arrangement. Each time she tries to inquire, for some reason she…
Hermione tries to recapture the thought, but it is gone.
Lost.
"Vasades has been beyond contact for a fortnight now." Father gives her a knowing look. "I know you walk to the forest in search."
"I do."
Each day she dissects their final exchange. During quiet moments between teaching and helping, she wonders about the timing of her departure. While delivering donated supplies and food to the poor, she thinks about the promised arrival. And while handling the count and working in the herb garden, Hermione tries to think about everything Vasades did not say.
Her thoughts get lost in the mist.
"Lily will never speak on such things to not discourage you," he says.
Something she will never do. Her mother encourages and challenges her to do and be more.
"But she does miss you. She finds the company of the local nobility rather droll."
"I will do better, Father." Hermione focuses on Vasades' comment. "When is Harry coming home?"
His face twists in confusion. "How did you—Vasades?"
She smiles.
"After defeating the Carrows, the king has put a hold on warfare while he assesses the spoils of his victory. Harry is to return while the king returns to the palace."
He sounds worried and she understands why. If King Draco is anything like those who came before him—or worse, his Queen—his return will only spread misery that will stain the kingdom.
Her parents are loyal to the crown, but not always to the one who wears it. They keep this a secret out of necessity. Hermione has never been to Court, but her parents appear only when summoned and do not play politics to gain the favour of the Cruel Queen.
Lucius the Mad has been in his grave over seven years, and still, there is little known of King Draco, the boy crowned at the age of fifteen. There are his successes on the battlefield, his swift yet brutal justice, and the battle scars that cover his body. But few know about who he is as a king or even as a man. Harry does not write of him in his letters. He could be either similar or different from his queen who rules in his absence.
Tales of her callousness are widespread, but King Draco's arrival means she will need to step aside and give up the power she wields with cruelty.
It sounds like a nightmare.
News out of the palace keeps the gossip wheels churning fast. Hermione is grateful for her peaceful and quiet life far enough away from the clutches of royal politics. She does not seek more than what she has.
Perhaps this is why she is an oddity.
Not only is Hermione allowed privileges unheard of to an unmarried woman in her station, she is free to teach, free to assist on the Duke's behalf and sometimes without his explicit permission, and free to marry for love over duty. Whispers follow her daily but Hermione does not care; the Potter's wealth and generosity keep everyone silent.
"Come." Father offers a hand. "Have rose water with your mother and I before I leave for town."
The walk to where her mother sits is slow but companionable.
"Lily, I found our wayward daughter inspecting the grain."
"Ah." Mother rises from her chair in the drawing room. She is beautiful with striking red hair that stands out against her deep green dress. "I thought she would be in the meadow again. Or picking fruit from the orchard to bring to her students."
"I did that already," Hermione replies with a wide smile, walking into the open arms of the only mother she has ever known.
Inhaling, Mother holds her close before pulling back with a smile. "I wish for another archery lesson or to watch you shoot fruit from the tops of the trees. In exchange, we will cross swords as soon as your father leaves. We will try to channel your magic into the blade."
While Hermione loves sword-fighting, there is something that interests her more.
"Mother, will you teach me a spell?" Though not permitted to carry a wand, she knows far more spells than Father.
"Of course, my love."
The heat turns the walk from the town into an intolerable trudge.
Hermione suffers in silence. The sight of rolling hills and green grass helps her temporarily forget about the rising level of discomfort in her gown. Brewing and delivering extra potions to the Healers to suppress an outbreak of spattergroit in the lower town leaves Hermione worn.
And the day is not yet over.
There is a small smile playing on Ginny Weasley's lips, and beads of sweat trickle from her hairline. She dabs away with a cloth as her cheeks tint a pinkish hue. Her state is not due to the heat, but from the combination of anticipation, excitement, and her absolute need to talk.
"Harry will arrive in three days' time."
Instead of reminding Ginny that she knows, everyone does, she smiles at her friend. Hermione is just as excited for her brother's return.
If not more.
"Are you ready?"
"I am. For everything." Ginny sobers to a degree, looking a little self-conscious. "I was not excited about the conversation about our wedding night with my mother, but it does not matter. I have been waiting for this since last year."
When Harry's stag Patronus glided into the room and delivered a marriage proposal.
Unconventional, yet oddly romantic, Ginny was speechless, more when she learned Harry wrote letters to their fathers stating his intentions. It was no surprise the Viscount consented to the advantageous match. Even now, many are still shocked by the Duke's blessing considering Ginny's small dowry.
But that is their Father.
He accepted Harry's decision as easily as they adopted Hermione into their family when they were already preparing for a child of their own.
Seamless.
Without question.
"Do you think they are still planning?" The face Ginny pulls is the same one she wears when Hermione carefully plucks the wings off of lacewing flies to store for future brews.
"Likely."
Since Harry's letter, their mothers have been planning for a floral wedding on the estate upon his return. The guest list is long enough for Hermione's eyes to cross—the Weasley family alone is extensive. Add in nearby nobles and friends and, well—Ginny is overwhelmed.
Hermione likes to use these potion deliveries to escape the clutches of their mothers.
The bride cares nothing for wedding details or lace, but the duchy is abuzz.
News of their long-awaited nuptials finally broke that morning alongside word of Harry's return, and many of the town's peasants stop Ginny to wish her a happy and fruitful union. It slows their progress, but neither are in a hurry to return.
"I was thinking." Ginny's three words earn her a raised brow, which she ignores in favour of linking their arms. "Instead of returning, we should walk to the Burrow and play shuntbumps."
Hermione can think of only a few things she would rather do less. "I am still disturbed about your idea of fun being limited to broomstick-jousting."
"You only hate it because you lose."
Ginny is not wrong. Hermione is as competitive as they come, but not about everything. "Being knocked off my broom is not a sport," she protests with a slight lift of her lips. "Reading under a tree is a far better way to spend one's time when it is hot."
"Of course you would say that." Her friend rolls her eyes. "You are hopelessly mundane."
"You sound like Vasades when she is frustrated with me."
As she often is.
Hermione's laugh fades when her teacher's parting words replay in her mind.
The stars speak of you. Our paths overlap and change in ways that are unclear. This is not goodbye. I will see you again.
Due to a lifetime of stubbornness, she has thrice visited their meeting spot and walked the forest, replaying their conversation and looking for any sign of the centauride.
There is none.
Hermione should not worry. This has happened before.
Still, she feels… unsettled.
Just as she does about the strange dragon with red eyes and battle wounds. And the rider's voice.
More than ever, Hermione is drawn to the skies—not in interest of the future Vasades sees in the stars, but in anticipation of what or who she might see on the horizon. It is why she returns to the meadow each morning. Her thoughts are always active. There have been several moments of silence when Hermione nearly divulges everything to Ginny.
But she does not.
It feels like a secret she must keep.
"You are in your mind again, Hermione."
She does not deny, nor does she answer. Instead, she offers Ginny an abashed smile. "Perhaps we both can clear our minds with a detour to the Burrow's lake for a swim."
Ginny cheers and drags them off the path.
Stripped down to their chemises, they swim together until the sun passes its peak.
In the hot, dry weather, the water is refreshing—reviving. Hermione and Ginny play and splash as their laughter echoes over the water. When they tire, they drift on their backs, joined hands tethering them as they gaze at the changing skies.
"I know I am marrying your brother, but I hope to still have days like this, just you and I."
"Of course." Hermione fondly squeezes her hand. "Nothing has to change."
Except she feels she is lying to both Ginny and herself.
Everything must either change or perish. It is a law of life.
After retreating from the water, Ginny calls for her family's elf, who dries them both with a snap of his fingers. Without protectant salve, any longer and Ginny's pale skin would start to redden.
To avoid cross stares from their mothers or the misery that comes with a sunburn, they dress and continue to the Potter Estate. Ginny's red hair is wavy, her skin sunkissed, and the house-elf's drying magic has once left Hermione's curls frizzy and tangled. There will be no denying their trip to the lake.
Relaxed and reset, an energetic Ginny shifts from talking about Harry's return to the latest palace gossip.
"Queen Millicent has levied taxes by another sickle ahead of the King's return."
"Again?"
It is the fourth raise since the start of winter. There are peasants far and wide who are barely managing from the previous increase and whispers of discontent are in the air all over the kingdom.
This breath-taking example of foolishness can only be explained by one thing: greed.
Between the latest kingdom to fall to the Malfoy's might and every sickle increase, the Kingdom's vaults should be overflowing, but the queen's desire for more has not been sated.
It never will be.
During King Draco's absence, Queen Millicent has terrorised those under their rule.
The spreading social unrest accompanies every decree and levied tax. It stokes the fire of Hermione's anger as kingdoms fall to the Malfoys.
The disregard for the safety of the conquered people unfamiliar with the kingdom's customs and practices; the segregation and unchecked violence they experience simply because they were conquered by a kingdom that already ignores the needs of their own people—everything increases Hermione's brewing ire.
Her disgust is not only with the royals, but also with the nobility who watch in silence to protect themselves and their own interests.
Word of public flogging and executions of those who seek change raise internal questions about the society in which they live. The society that blindly follows one tyrant after the next.
"Yes, it is egregious." The eyes and ears of the Palace do not reach this corner of the country, but Ginny is careful about her volume. "It has been done at the suggestion of the advisors. They seek to make certain the treasury has enough to keep the war funded."
"I thought the war would be paused for some time."
"It has been, but our kingdom's enemies will rally. Harry tells me that soldiers are returning home and guards will be deployed to maintain what we have gained. Scouts are being sent to assess the Carrow Kingdom. He tells me of the people's cries and happiness at being liberated."
The sadistic Carrows have ravaged hundreds of towns and villages in the Malfoy Kingdom since the start of the Second Great War. Hermione holds them responsible for the death of her parents, but even she cannot imagine anyone celebrating the exchange from one tyrant to another.
"King Draco has delayed his return, which is why Queen Millicent's extravagant celebration plans grow more and more ludicrous. Every noble and all the knights are invited. Last I heard, she is to release peacocks upon his arrival." Ginny rolls her eyes as they pass through the wards of the Potter Estate, the magic warm and accepting. "Do not ask me the purpose. I have no answer. It will be a grand affair."
Ginny's sarcasm is as dry as ever, but Hermione cannot laugh, much less speak. She has no words left to describe how she feels about the queen's indulgence in the face of the kingdom's troubles in the midst of war that has no end.
She stops walking.
"Hermione?" Concern etches itself in Ginny's brows. "What is it?"
"I wish to hear no more of the queen's plans. I only care about how we will combat this to help those in need. I will form a list of ideas and present them to my father."
"You are a Lady, this is not your fight."
"But these are our people. The heart of every kingdom. It is unwise to treat them so poorly."
"You and your family do far more for those who live in your duchy. Not all nobles are like you. At worst, nobles see peasants as expendable. At best, a source of income." Ginny takes her hand and they continue with the setting sun at their backs. "I am constantly in awe of you. I have been since we were children. Stubborn like a bicorn, yet kind and fair. I wish to see the world as you do."
"There is no correct way to see the world. We all struggle to process the constant changes both within us and around us. This world is not built in a way that we can all be equal, but we can treat those beneath us fairly and with respect." Hermione exhales as they approach the entrance walk. "I—it is a radical way of thinking, I know, but my mother started me on this path and my understanding of nature has set my course to do what I can. Fight what I can. Help who I can."
"You and Harry are alike in that way. You both are fighters. He is bound by duty and you—"
"I fight for what is right."
But as they walk, Hermione thinks more about the brother who left to fulfil his familial duty and train alongside the Prince as a knight.
She wonders if he is still weedy with the same scar and spectacles. If he has messy hair and carries the same wand.
Or if war has suppressed the boy who used to laugh too free, smile too wide, and talk too loud.
The same boy who thought the war would be won by the time his training was complete and nothing would change in his absence.
She fears he will return knowing everything has.
Hermione holds to her quiet wish that Harry will return the same as he left, but hope does not have a place on the battlefield.
Like life and death, time will burn it away.
Nevertheless, Hermione thinks as she greets her mother who frowns knowingly at the state of her hair. It will be good to see him again.
"You are distracted, Hermione."
It has been one hour since they started sparring and Mother has not yet grown weary. This is normal, but it is also the day before Harry is to return and she has anticipatory energy to burn.
Dressed in a simple blue gown and her red hair out in waves, her mother is in ready position, knees bent with her dull practice sword extended. Its tip edges close to where Hermione takes her defensive stance.
Although far from unskilled with a sword, she envies how Mother fights. Not only does she fight with a wholehearted will to win, she possesses a natural grace forged from steel.
Hermione has never fought like her. With an eye for detail and technique, she has never been able to manage her sword in a way that is instinct-driven or natural. Mother's sword can glow with magic at her will and command, allowing her to cut through marble. She wishes to teach Hermione the same skill, but Hermione has never been able to maintain the focus needed for such a trick.
"I have killed you thrice today, my love. Do give me a challenge this time."
"Yes, Mother." Humidity and exertion leave Hermione's hair as wild as she looks in a deep red gown she will never wear again. "But if you kill me quickly, I might have time for a bath before dinner."
Father chuckles from his seat on the edge of the veranda. No longer able to spar, he looks wistful but entertained.
Everyone loses to her mother.
Hermione wonders if Harry will, too, upon his return.
"Lily, darling," The quirk on his lips denotes amusement. "Go easy on Hermione. She looks tired from her early morning walk in the meadows."
His words do exactly as he intends.
Instead of defence, Hermione goes on the attack.
There is a gleam in her mother's green eyes that hints at her excitement. The jarring sound of clanging swords and Hermione's heavy breathing fill the air as they fight. This round goes longer and harder, and when Mother lunges for the third kill, Hermione slides to the left without thinking. The sword goes past her body, and leaves Mother open for the defeat.
With the blunt tip of her sword at her mother's neck, Hermione pants for air. "Do you yield?"
"I do." Her smile widens as they both straighten. "Excellent work." To her father, she inclines her head. "James, thank you dear for the proper motivation."
"I have learned that telling Hermione she cannot is enough to fuel her determination to prove the words wrong."
They know her best.
A house-elf appears to return their swords and daggers to the armoury.
"Thank you, Dobby," she and her mother speak as one.
"Mistresses is kind." He bows and leaves with a snap of his fingers.
With the assistance of his cane, Father rises to his feet. Mother approaches, planting a simple kiss on his cheek before wrapping her arms around his waist.
Father rests his cheek on the crown of her mother's head. "As always, you remain a magnificent terror, Lily."
The compliment earns him an expected nudge in the ribs that makes him laugh in the face of Mother's glare.
Then something soft settles over them.
Years of marriage have made their movements fluid and easy, their bond strong.
Although their wish is for their children to marry out of choice and love, their match was not one born from either.
Betrothed as children, they hardly tolerated one another before they married. Father admitted he was spoiled, arrogant, and cared for nothing beyond his mates—Lord Sirius and Sir Remus—and his service as a knight under the Mad King. Mother aggravated him with her wit and the fact that she cared too much about things that were not Ladylike—like the starving people in their duchy.
His very existence vexed her.
Even now, they disagree on much, but when Hermione first asked how they grew to love each other as they do, they exchanged looks and spoke the truth.
War.
Two winters before Hermione was given to them, the Mad King Lucius sent his Knights on a suicide mission that only her father survived. His Thestral returned home and would not leave until her mother mounted. It carried her off into the night, delivering her to the battlefield, where she found her husband alive, surrounded by the bodies of his fellow knights. She took him to safety, nursed him back to health, and though irreparably injured, she stayed by his side, helping him regain his strength and independence.
"Clarity waits for the moment you stand to lose everything," her mother once told her. "But love is the moment when you decide you simply refuse to."
Harry is different than Hermione remembers.
Taller.
Broader.
He has grown out of many things but the kindness in his eyes remains. It has not yet been tainted by war. Despite rough hands, his hug is gentle, and even now his charmed glasses remain crooked. The scar he was born with still stands out; it is identical to the one on father's neck.
Harry freely speaks of his happiness about his return, his enthusiastic reunion with Buckbeak brings a grin to her face, and she nearly cries with him when he and Ron hug. His shoulders sag when he crouches to hug Mother, then upright to hug Father.
They are the same height now, and he is the spitting image of Father.
But with their mother's eyes.
When he sees Ginny, it is as if the world slows. The moment they share is incomparable.
He picks her up like she weighs nothing and hugs her like she is everything.
They are to marry at sunrise.
Hermione will be Maid of Honour.
After their reunion, Ginny is called away, leaving Harry and Hermione alone with Ron.
"The Golden Trio, reunited at long last." Ron grins.
It is an affectionate name given to them by their parents at five when Harry found an injured golden snidget and the three decided to adopt it. It did not take long for their parents to find out and make them give the rare bird to Hagrid and the Scamander family for care. The moniker still lives, as does the bird, now with several generations of hatchlings.
Trolls, werewolves, a basilisk, a Voldemort zealot disguised as Ron's rat who speaks in riddles about Harry, lost Inferi—these strange experiences bind them for life.
The first thing they do is return to their roots—not trouble, there is plenty of time for that—revisiting their favourite childhood hiding spot. A large field far from the Potter Estate. They lie in the grass at the top of the hill, eating fruit and nuts, and enjoying the bond forged as children.
Ron is the only one of his brothers who remains near home. He is also the first of their trio to marry, having done so four years ago to the daughter of a Lord, Susan Bones. They have two children Hermione calls goddaughters, who sometimes join her lessons despite not being orphans. Ron is always busy whenever Hermione calls on him, but today he enjoys being away from it all.
"Was it hard getting the King's permission to marry?"
"No." Harry bites into an apple and chews. "He permitted us to return to our families but expects us back next week upon his arrival for the welcome feast."
Hermione's look sours. There is much she needs to tell Harry, but it is his first day back and she doesn't want to trouble him with her causes.
"Good." Ron shoves a handful of berries into his mouth. "It was annoying how much she talks about your letters, so for that, I am glad you are home to marry her."
When Hermione laughs, her brother tilts his head. "I am surprised you are not yet married."
"I am not inclined to marry. My students are my brood."
It is the same response she gives to every suitor who asks for her hand: the handsome Marquess named Viktor Krum when she was but fifteen, and an arrogant son of a foreign Duke named Cormac McLaggen two years later. Not to mention, Percy, who made his offer last year.
Her parents supported her refusals.
"Are you certain?" Harry asks.
"I enjoy helping the people in our duchy, teaching the orphans, handling the duties Mother and Father cannot, and brewing potions for those who need it. Someone must. I doubt any marriage I enter will afford me the time and choice to live as I wish."
"But you will be a spinster."
"A happy one." At Harry's worried look, she nudges him with a smile. "I do not mean riches when I say there is only so much fortune found in marriage. You and Ron have found it all and there is none left for me. I am happy you both are happy."
Ron scratches his head. "I still do not know why you refused my brother. You like him."
"He is a good man. I enjoy his company and conversation, but I do not love him, nor will I ever. I choose no one and instead choose to make certain the people within our duchy will not be left to ruins due to the greed and actions of the crown."
"I have heard… stories." Harry looks into the distance and picks at a blade of grass. "I am hoping with the king's return, things will change."
"Is the war over?" Hermione asks.
"No, but—"
"There is no change when corruption and greed continue to be the source of suffering. The queen is horrid, wasteful, and brutal. She cares nothing for the people she rules or those displaced by the war. And those who advise her are no better. I, for one, am tired of war. The kingdom has not known peace in years and we will never know peace with King Draco's single-minded desire to conquer the realm—"
"You have done it now." Ron sounds fondly exasperated, rolling his eyes just as Ginny does when Hermione gets too passionate during her rants. "You have gotten Hermione started."
She throws a pecan. He catches it with his mouth and they all cheer and laugh.
Everything settles for just a moment.
"I have opinions."
"We know!" Harry and Ron say simultaneously.
Their laugh is so similar it is hard to remember there are years between now and their last goodbyes, and mere hours since their latest hellos.
Some things never change.
Until they do.
Libra: The constellation's name means "the weighing scales" in Latin. Libra is usually depicted as the scales held by the Greek goddess of justice Dike (or Astraea).
A/N: Thank you all for the reviews, support, etc. Hope you enjoyed this chapter! A little more world-building. Call the ending the calm before the storm. *insert raccoon cackle gif*
A few things:
1. "Justice for Jily!" - Jaxx who wanted to draw them older together as much as I wanted to write them as the parents who raised their children. *I love Jily so much* WE WERE ROBBED. Anyway. Ahem.
2. From chapter 1: The Mother of Constellations...NOT a Game of Thrones reference but actually a canon reference to the Black Family naming tradition.
3. From this chapter: All the bits about "golden snidget" and "shuntbumps" all old wizarding games that are in the history of Quidditch. Yes, my deep dive into canon research is shining through. I had all my books out for this fic and HP Lexicon. We're great pals. The golden snidget pre-dated the golden snitch and shuntbumps is essentially what Hermione says, whacking each other while on brooms to see who falls off first.
4. Buckle up, its about to get messy. And fun. A fun mess.
5. Also to clarify, Draco is king. Narcissa can't be queen...because she's his mother. She would be Queen Mother. Millicent is Draco's wife.