Hello, darlings. Sorry for the delay. My internet was out before work and I just got home. Thank you all for reading and reviewing, they make my day.
Chapter 3 Family Time for Hermione
Sunday morning Hermione went for her run then stopped at the local market for a shop. The sweet faced elderly owner greeted her warmly. Her son, who acted as the manager, smiled and nudged the stock boy indicating he should resume his task and stop gawking. They appreciated her patronage and the increase in foot traffic when people noticed her there, so they respected her privacy.
Once she replenished her pantry, Hermione debated with herself about going to the Burrow for dinner. She didn't know if she felt up the constant soulmate conundrum talk. Though putting it off only increased the time needed to catch her up later. The prospect of having to go to the effort of cooking to feed herself decided matters, the Burrow it was.
Somber faces greeted her. Molly hugged her tightly, as did Arthur. "What's wrong? What happened? Is everyone okay?" she asked frantically.
"Everyone we know is fine as far as we know," Arthur assured her.
"Have you see the Daily Prophet this morning?" inquired Molly.
"No, I skipped it today. They've been too cheerful about the current travesty."
Molly frowned deepened, she shook her head sadly, "A wizard refused to accept a witch's rejection and murdered her last night."
"How horrible. This is why you don't play with magic you don't fully comprehend. How bad is the backlash?"
Ron joined the conversation, "Pretty bad. People want his head, they want the unknown coven's heads. No one is happy, people want blood."
"They want someone to blame," corrected Hermione. "I can't say I don't understand and agree with them. For every couple that finds happiness, there are five more with issues. One of them might be married, and want to stay that way. They might meet in passing and never find one another again. One of them might refuse to accept it, and even without violence they will both sicken and die."
Ginny huffed and shifted in her chair, "They might have incompatible lifestyles." Ron raised an eyebrow questioning her statement. "I play quidditch. I'm gone every few weeks for at least overnight. I don't want to drop everything because my traditional spouse wants to me to pop out a bunch of kids, stay home, and keep the house up. Maybe down the road, but not right now."
"I'm sure your soulmate would want you to be happy and consider your wishes," Arthur said.
"Sure, in his soul he does. But look how many followed their parents to war because it was expected," she gestured wildly.
"A bit dramatic, but point taken," said Percy entering the house. "Hello, all," he gave an awkward wave.
"Oh, darling, have you been eating properly?" Molly fussed, "Or sleeping?"
"According to Mum, none us know how to properly care for ourselves," George whispered to Hermione who giggled lightly.
"Not really," answered Percy, trying to duck past his mother. "I got a transfer and a promotion to Deputy Head of the new Department of Ritual Mishaps."
Hermione cringed, "Oh, Percy, congratulations and my condolences, whichever you want."
He sighed, "Both, I think. Nice to be recognized for my efforts, but this is a disaster. And today's tragedy is only going to add to it." He scrubbed his face with his hands.
"Do you think you'll have to deal with the backlash?" asked Fred.
"Yes, gods forbid wizards have to make an effort or suffer an inconvenience," snarked Hermione. "Hey, thought just crossed my mind, how secure are the records about soulmates?"
"Basic security," answered Percy.
"Increase it. Some crazy decides to attack couples and they would never know it was coming. Or a nosy reporter breaks in and starts stalking them for interviews. Or, worse, a money seeking employee steals the records and sells them. These people deserve safety and privacy." Percy sighed again. "Want Bill and I to come customize them?"
"Customize what?" asked Bill entering the room with his wife and daughter.
"The wards around the recorded soulmates. They deserve privacy."
"Certainly. When works for you, Hermione?"
"Uh, we have a three hour break tomorrow around eleven, does that work?"
"Perfect. I have Mondays off for a bit to compensate for long nights last month." He glanced at his wife to check, but asked, "Meet at the ministry?"
"Sounds like a plan," she grinned. The rest of the Weasleys finished staggering in. The conversation turned to work and absent friends.
George turned to Hermione, "Where did you disappear to so early Friday?"
"Got tired. I'd had my in at the closet and decided to call it a night. These things are going to marathons, not sprints." She grimaced, "Lots of social gatherings in our futures. Joy of joys."
"You make it sound like so much fun," grumbled Ron.
"Percy," asked Fleur, "have they figured out anything for married people?" She fidgeted with her wineglass.
"Yes, it should be announced tomorrow. It severs the soulmate connection with the new mate and shifts it to the spouse," he reassured his sister-in-law.
"Could that poor girl have used it?" asked Ginny.
"Sadly, no. She didn't have a marriage bond to replace it with. He killed her because if she wouldn't be with him, she couldn't be with anyone."
"He couldn't accept she didn't want to be with her soulmate for whatever reason," Hermione said softly.
"Sounds like it," responded Harry.
Molly picked up her plate and began clearing the rest," I suggest we focus on something else. There isn't much any of us can do."
Fred laughed, "George and I did our bit, held a party for vastly different groups of people."
Bill laughed, "I don't know how much of that was out of civic duty."
George clutched his chest, "Excuse me? All of it. We take the need to seek out soulmates very seriously."
"It is imperative people find them and bond or reject one another," said Fred. "We realize you don't understand having found the love of your life already."
"Fair enough. I apologize."
"As you should," sniffed Fred. Grasping for a new subject, the conversation flowed into the party, attendees, and other stories.
Monday, Daisy waited to pounce the second Hermione entered the locker room. "Girl, we need details. Spill." Grace and Marissa swooped in from the sides to join them. "What naughtiness did you engage in?"
Hermione rolled her eyes and chuckled, "I took him to Harold and Edith's for brunch. We talked. We're going to dinner tonight."
"How boring," Marissa deflated.
"Hold on," said Grace, "she took him to Harold and Edith's for a first date. This is huge."
"Sure, but I wanted hot details, not proof he could be The One," groused Marissa.
"So sorry to disappoint. Furthermore, you have no idea he's fit. He could be a goofy accountant from Leeds for all you know."
"But he's not," sing-songed Daisy.
"How do you know?"
Fine, you got me there," laughed Daisy.
"Attention, ladies, huddle up," Danvers called for the team's attention. "We all know the season opens in two weeks. If we start with a whimper I will be extremely vexed. We will open with a bang." The team cheered. "Now I believe in you, but Coach Westrook, here, has her doubts. So, we have a bet going. I'm paying £100 for every goal you get past Granger." The team cheered again.
Waving her hands for silence, Westrook spoke up, "And I'm paying a hundred for every goal Granger and the defenders block."
A reserve member joked, "And defense is buying drinks after training." Everyone laughed.
"We'll see," Danvers clapped her hands, "let's get warmed up."
By the time the coaches called lunch, Hermione and the defense were up £700 to none. "That's three hours. Get your errands sort, yeah?"
Citing a meeting with government officials, she begged off lunch and set off on her errand. She arrived at the ministry just after Bill. "Hey, Hermione. Interesting attire," Bill gestured to her joggers and sports bra visible beneath her vest.
"Thanks," she pretended to preen and grinned cheekily. "Relax, I have robes." She pulled out a simple black robe from her ever present beaded bag. "Shall we?" She slipped into her robe.
"Perce said to say we're visiting him directly, not the department. It's a madhouse."
"I imagine." They moved through the crowds. Many looked tense and frustrated. Some looked on the verge of tears. Unconsciously, she moved closer to Bill and kept her wand hand free. The press of people continued all the way to the lifts. She nudged his side and pointed to the stairs. "Avoid the wait?"
"Good plan." They entered the stairwell and jogged up to the fifth floor. "The twins said you were in good shape, but I didn't quite believe them." She simply smiled and held the door open for him. Taking deep breaths to catch his breath, Bill began searching for his brother. Jumbles of people gathered in the corridor grumbling. A few were entering the inner offices. Out of the corner of her eye Hermione caught sight of some journalists. She frowned. Happily, none of them noticed her slipping into the office.
Percy greeted them, "Welcome to the circus. The records are through here."
They followed him deeper into the rooms. "You might want to have someone keep the reporters in the atrium," Bill remarked.
"They got up here again? Bast! Journalists!" A grumpy looking middle aged wizard stood and stalked out to the corridor. For a second Hermione felt bad for the journalists. It quickly passed. Anyone hanging about this floor planned to feast on suffering and humiliation. She considered cheering on Bast. Ultimately she followed the Weasley brothers into the room storing the scrolls.
Bill examined the scrolls and windowless closet like room. "Enchant the scrolls or lock the room?"
"I'll take the scrolls. Anyone sneaking in will expect resistance. What do you want the password to be?" she asked the last to Percy.
"Password?"
"Yes, anyone who doesn't tap the scroll with their wand and utter the password will only see gibberish. And the word thief will appear across their face."
"That's great." Percy considered the matter, "How about Scabbers?"
"Not a word most people would randomly think of. Scabbers it is." Hermione and Bill swiftly accomplished their respective jobs and bid Percy farewell.
Leaving the office they were not as lucky as entering. A random witch recognized Hermione and ran up to her, "Why haven't you fixed this, yet? Why isn't it over?" she demanded.
Step back," said Hermione in a cold voice.
"Where are you going? Get back in there and fix this!" screamed the woman. She grabbed at Hermione's robes.
Hermione blocked her hands easily. "Why would I? I don't work here. I don't have anything to do with this. Step back."
"You're Hermione Granger. You stopped Lord Voldemort," the woman sounded shrill. "You're the brightest witch of generations. All the papers say so."
Hermione's eyes narrowed, "Yes, as a child I stopped the dark wizards adults like you hid from. I saved the adults that should have protected me. I don't owe you, or anyone else, anything. Now you should save yourself. Find your soulmate. Accept, reject, or transfer the bond. Then go on with your life. But stop waiting for someone to make this go away. Some witches played with magic they didn't understand or couldn't control. As the muggle stories say, you can't put the genie back in the bottle. This is happening. Deal with it."
"But," the woman started to protest. Bill blocked her and escorted Hermione past her to the lifts.
"Thanks," she said as the doors closed.
"That was," Bill started.
Hermione interrupted, "How most wizards act. How they've always acted near as I can tell." They exited the lifts and made their way through the atrium.
"Hermione Granger, fancy seeing you here. Come to announce your soulmate connection?" asked a snide voice.
She turned to see Romilda Vane holding a quill and notepad. "Nope, Bill and I came in on unrelated business and happen to be leaving together."
"You're not here to break up a marriage to keep your soulmate?"
"No, and if that idiocy graces the pages of your, or any, publication I will hex you bald and buck toothed. The journalist touched her head briefly. She tried to rally her courage, but wilted under Hermione's glare. "Nod that you understand." Romilda nodded. "Good." She spun on her heel and left.
Returning to practice, Hermione channeled her annoyance into game play. By the end of practice Coach Westrook owed the defense £1400. The young witch felt calmer and less ready to randomly rip into someone. That feeling faded when she noticed Donovan Graves waiting by the outside door. "There you are my delicate flower," he approached Hermione.
"I am not your delicate flower, Mr. Graves. Stop calling me that."
"You should stop playing hard to get, my flower," He began to stretch his hand to touch her face.
She ducked away, "Touch me and I break your fingers. I am not in the mood for your shite. Fuck off," she glared.
"Most girls would leap at the chance to even be seen with me, let alone be my girlfriend." He moved closer.
She stepped to the side and resumed walking, "Then date one of them. I'm not interested and have a boyfriend. Stop poaching."
"Don't lie, my flower," he crooned.
"Stop harassing me, Mr. Graves. I will file a formal complaint. Again."
Before Donovan could respond his father, one of the team and stadium owners, appeared. "Donovan, we're leaving. Ladies," he nodded.
"So, who needs a drink?" asked one of the reservists.
"Not me. Got a date with the boyfriend Graves doesn't think exists." Hermione waved farewell. She breezed into the flat greeting her cat. She checked his water dish and food bowl. "I'm going out, Crooksie. I'll be gone most of the evening." The half kneazle barely looked up from his dish.
Oliver hadn't mentioned where they were going for dinner, so she selected casual, but classy clothes. A designer tee and boot cut jeans, pulled together with a silver chain and ankle boots. She put her hair half up and down and did natural makeup.
Promptly at six a knock came at the front door. She opened it to reveal Oliver standing with a bouquet of different flowers. Roses, daisies, and a few lilies smiled midst the baby's breath and filler greenery. He extended the flowers, "The bloke with the corner cart said the way to a lass's heart is with the unconventional."
She took the flowers with a smile. "He's not wrong. These are lovely. Thank you." She stepped back to let him in. "I'll put these in water and we can go."
"Sure," Oliver moved to the living room. "Is your fireplace connected to the floo network?"
"Yes. That's why the front room has thick curtains."
"That's a plus, no side-along."
She returned to the room, carrying the vase, "Do I get to know where we're going?"
"Ye took me to a personal favorite, so Ah thought to return the favor." He offered his arm, "Ready?"
Grabbing her beaded bag, she took his hand, "Let's go."
"Great, floo address is 'the Pegasus and the Unicorn.'" They flooed to a dim taproom. Dark wood paneled walls and matching tables whispered of privacy. Oliver waved at the bartender and guided her to a corner booth. "Lisa will be along to take our order." They slid into the booth and Hermione looked over the menu.
A middle aged woman approached the table, pulling a pad out of her half apron as she walked. She raised her head as she greeted them. "Hullo, Oliver, who's... holy shite, yer Hermione Granger!"
"I am, And you're Lisa?"
"Aye, oh wow, we never get celebrities here. This is right tidy."
Hermione smirked at Oliver, "You're not a celebrity."
"Apparently not," he chuckled. "Hermione, this is Lisa, co-owner of the pub. Lisa, me friend, Hermione Granger."
The older women collected her wits, "Hullo, dearie. Welcome to the Pegasus. What can I get you?"
"The catch of the day and chips. And a pint of whatever is local, please." Hermione ordered.
The waitress looked at Oliver, "Steak and kidney pie and the usual pint."
"Be right back with the drinks, dearies."
Oliver looked around, being a bit too early for the dinner rush, only three other tables were occupied, "So, is this the date we talk about our pasts?"
"Like friendships, relationships, and such?" she asked.
"Or what the hell ye, Potter, and Weasley did during the war."
She chuckled, "Some of that remains classified for public safety. Some dark magics should stay hidden."
"Fair enough. What can ye tell me?"
"Better question, what do you know?"
He thought for a few minutes, "Ah don't ken if Ah ken anything beyond the rumors."
"Then let me set the story straight. First year we solved the staff's riddles and protected the Philosopher's stone from Voldemort. He possessed Professor Quirell."
"He did? Huh, wonder why we never noticed?"
She shrugged, "Who knows. Second year before I ended up petrified we hunted for the Chamber of Secrets and Voldemort's monster. I figured out it was a basilisk. Harry saved Ginny Weasley and killed it. Voldemort possessed her through an old diary."
"Did he possess a lot of people to yer knowledge?"
"No, that was about it, I believe. It relates back to that stuff I can't tell you. Third year we dealt with werewolves, demementors, and discovered Sirius Black was innocent. Peter Pettigrew betrayed the Potters and killed those muggles. He just framed Black."
"I remember hearing about that," Oliver said.
She smiled, "Fourth year was the TriWizard Tournament."
"Ah was sorry tae have missed that, and Viktor Krum."
You and Viktor would get along. You're rather similar."
"We are?" he asked, unsure of how she would know.
She began ticking off each item on her list on her fingers, "Quidditch mad, brave, loyal, thoughtful, and sexy accents."
"Sexy accents? Ye think me accent is sexy?"
"It can be. I also like the exotic sounding pet names," she admitted, "his and yours."
Oliver blinked, "How close are ye?"
She gave him an odd look, "We went to Yule Ball together. I was the person he saved in the second task. I spent the summer after in Bulgaria. It was constantly all over the papers! How do you not know this?"
He looked away sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck, "Ah didn't follow the paper much at that time unless it was quidditch standings. Unless it affected his quidditch game Ah was clueless."
"That explains it, then."
They paused talking when Lisa delivered their food. "Wait, ye mentioned Viktor's jersey was wearing thin, ye meant Krum."
"Um, yes. I also have Charlie Weasley's, Fred's, and Harry's. I never dated any of them. I just like to swipe old jerseys. Know that yours are in danger now."
"Ah should hope so. They're yers for the takin', leannan."
"Oh, sure, take all the fun out of stealing them."
"Not even going to pretend to be sorry," he grinned. "So, onto fifth year." He began eating.
"Fifth year we dealt with Ministry interference, taught ourselves defense, and battled Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries. Dolohov got me with a bad one. Took most of the summer to recover. Dad hated that I missed that season. The biggest thing in sixth year was the Death Eater attack the ended with Professor Dumbledore's death. I can't tell you our first seventh year, and you were at the Battle of Hogwarts."
"Yeah, so, seventh year is the classified stuff?"
She looked away, staring blankly at the taproom, before taking a deep breath, "Yes, and no. Some of it I'm not ready to talk about. I may never be. There's a reason I took the Queen's offer of military honors. It helps explain things to my muggle family."
"Ah feel bad ye lot did all that and all Ah did was fuss about the House Quidditch Cup," Oliver frowned.
She placed her fork on her plate and took his hand, "Oliver, most people had no clue. The ministry and the rest of the public ignored things until it was nearly too late. And you came when the call went out. How many people ignored that call?"
"Ah suppose that's true. Thank ye, for all of it. Doing what ye did, and saying that last bit."
She resumed eating, "Okay, your turn. Lay the exes on me."
"Krum is your only ex?" he asked incredulously
"No. Ron and I kissed twice and realized we wanted different things out of life. I briefly dated a coworker, Ryan Sharpe. Then a lot of flings with muggles you will never meet and I am unlikely to see again."
"No judgment, but estimate a lot, please."
"I'm not entirely sure, more than five less than twenty."
He gave a small nod, "Thanks, Ah never really dated in Hogwarts. Ah dated a gold digging jersey chaser for about a year before she showed her true colors. After that a string of short relationships over the years. Most lasted a few months, nothing serious. Maybe about fifteen girls."
"Are you still friendly with any of them? Viktor and I still keep in touch and get together when he plays in England or France."
"Most of them moved on when they realized Ah wasn't going to open my vaults immediately and never looked back."
"No worries there. I have plenty my own." They began comparing gold digger stories from other players and friends.