Casting a silencing spell on the door had been enough for Hermione to leave their living quarters without alerting Remus or her father, who were thankfully fast asleep in their living quarters. Now she padded along the long dark corridors to the library, shifted into her cat form, no one would pay attention to yet another stray roaming the castle.
Well, almost no one.
Mrs Norris leapt down from a window sill and stared unblinkingly at Hermione with challenging yellow eyes. She sniffed the air and the skeletal grey cat approached her, nose first, keenly aware Hermione was not simply another cat roaming the corridors. Just like Crookshanks knew that Scabbers was not just, as Sirius Black put it, 'a garden variety rat'.
You're coming with me…Mrs Norris approached, her shoulders arched, but despite her age and skeletal appearance, she did not pin her ears back.
Hermione backed up and did arch her back, bristle her fur and pin her ears back. She was younger and more spry, but here Mrs Norris seemed to be the one in control. Mrs Norris leapt forward to pounce on her, and Hermione, with a hiss dashed out of the way, bounding off the stone wall. She flipped and skidded down the corridor, Mrs Norris in pursuit.
Once she found a ground floor window, open to let in the cool summer breeze, Hermione dove through it, knowing that Mrs Norris wouldn't follow her. The old cat didn't like to go outside and deal with the countless animals that roamed the grounds.
"There you are, my sweet," Filch's voice said from above the window. "What is it? It's summer and the only student here is Snape's brat."
The window, the little brat is right there!
"I'll keep looking around, my sweet," he said. "Let's go."
Hermione listened for the footsteps leading away from her, and leapt up into the window when they were no longer in continued down to the library, careful to prowl along the shadows. A stray cat would pass her by every now and then, but they seemed to pay no mind to her. Rats would flee at the sight of her.
Eventually she reached the massive oak double doors and carefully checked by sight, hearing and smell to ensure nobody was coming. Hermione then turned into her cat hybrid form to keep her heightened senses in the dark.
"Alohamora," she whispered, tapping the ancient lock.
A series of clicks announced the doors unlocking and Hermione whispered "silencio" over the door. If she could cast silently, she would cast it on herself to keep from making any noise, but her chances to practise what she read in Confronting the Faceless were scarce when her father and Remus kept their eyes on her. Why they kept such a close eye, Hermione had no clue, but wondered back to that Japanese woman from the restaurant, but it wasn't as if she had much to go off of if she wanted to dig into her past.
No, they've been like this since I came back from Japan… She thought back, remembering just how little privacy she got all summer so far. She thanked Merlin for the increased staff meetings to interrupt their watchful eye.
Though I guess I can't blame them, Hermione remembered her father's horrified white face when she came to, coughing up inky river water.
Hermione crept up to the restricted section and unlocked the gate after silencing the hinges. She remembered back to her first year when she used an Owlsight potion to see in the dark, creeping around to research what turned out to be the philosopher's stone. She wondered just how much of her research over the years involved skulking around the library after hours as she stumbled upon the familiar Alchemy section.
She remembered the stone's ability to grant immortality and wondered if some other alchemical or cursed artefact would somehow support a disembodied Voldemort. She found Artefacts, Alchemy and Famed Wizards where it sat before and flipped back to a disturbing passage she remembered from three years prior.
Horcruxes manifest when an enchanted object with ample magical energy is imbued with the fragment of a person's soul. While it can grant immortality to the owner of the horcrux, the creation of such an artefact requires the completion of a disturbing task; The murder of another human being.
A fragment of the soul leaves the body when he commits murder and enters the magical object. So long as the horcrux remains undisturbed, the wizard's immortality is all but guaranteed, even upon bodily destruction. But this comes at a dear price, with the pain of the torn soul, the wizard loses part of himself, his emotional range and will remain hollow until the end of time.
Hermione shuddered, but read it over twice more before taking notes. As horrifying as it was, that last paragraph seemed to promise and answer. Immortality is all but guaranteed, even upon bodily destruction...That's probably how he's still around, but that doesn't explain Harry's connection.
The next several hours involved Hermione combing through various volumes, she learned how to link senses, that it was possible to share dreams, and further evidence that her father had, indeed, been using legilimency on her.
Legilimancy allows the practitioner to peer and sort through the mind of their target. Images from the target's experiences flood into the mind of the practitioners, but by honing his skill, a wizard can correctly interpret and select for images.
Usually it requires active casting, but some wizards are born with a rare talent that allows them to see the surface thoughts by simply looking into their target's eyes.
Hermione's stomach churned and what little she managed to eat after the fiasco at the restaurant threatened to come up. Her hands shook violently as she read and re-read the words, wondering two things:
How could she have been so stupid as to not realise this? She suspected it for years, but here it was in black and white, yet another betrayal of her father. And...
How could he?! How fucking could he?! After years of claiming to look out for her, the hipocr–
No, that wasn't right. She knew it all along. After that doomed conversation in the archives during second year, how could she not? Had she forgotten too much? Forgiven too much?
No, I don't have time for this… Harry needs me.
Hermione finished her notes, packed her bag and crept to the necromancy section of the library. She remembered the section well from the winter break. Dead Ends, Forensic Necromancy: Unveiling the Secrets of the Dead, Stopper in Death, Raising Hell: Key to Inferi… you never forgot titles like that. Which made it easy for her to find her mark.
Corporeal Creations: Sacrilege of Souls.
"Still suffering the jetlag, eh?" Severus gently placed a hand on Hermione's drooping head.
"Tokyo is nine hours ahead of us, Dad," Hermione mumbled, still staring into her cup of coffee.
"Don't mumble, love," he said automatically. Shit!
"Sorry."
There's more…how do I...Dozens of accolades in some of the most complex magic, yet my own daughter remains a mystery…How many mistakes must I make before I finally get it right, Hermione?
"Any exciting plans for the day?" he asked, brushing his own comment and her response aside. If he did, surely she would too.
"No, Dad, I–" she sighed, then shook her head and forced a smile. "I–erm–I mean, I just have to get used to the time zone again."
Nervous laughter, that's the closest I've gotten to a smile since that night... Severus began soothing his daughter's hair. "Of course, love."
"Good morning!" Remus all but sang as he entered from the bedroom. "How're my favourite father-daughter duo?"
"Oh?" Severus chuckled. "Have you wormed your way into another family? And here I thought we were special," he hugged Hermione. "Didn't you?"
"Ugh, Dad," Hermione sighed with an eye roll.
I'll take it, "I'll get a laugh one of these days," he teased, pinching the little girl's cheek.
"You might have better luck when she's awake," Remus stage-whispered with a playful elbow to his ribs.
That did earn a giggle from Hermione along with an eye roll. A familiar jealousy Severus thought he'd exorcised returned as he watched Remus take his place beside her.
"I know I'm not supposed to know about this," Remus started. "But I heard that you're the great orchestrator of the Herald."
"You told?!" Hermione squeaked, turning to Severus.
"No," Severus buried the building rage. "The headmaster did."
"He knew?"
"Indeed he did," he sighed. "Can't blame him, love. Your involvement with that doomed paper is perhaps the worst kept secret in Hogwarts."
"Oh," Hermione's head fell once more, and she clasped her hands before her.
Shit…
"Okay…" Remus inhaled. "Anyway, Hermione, Dumbledore mentioned that he'd want to make it legitimate."
"You're not serious?" Hermione gasped, her eyes growing in size.
"I am," Remus smiled. "And he wants to speak to you."
"But he-and-I-erm-but-I-and–the Herald's other writers—and what about—no—but this might be ok–or it could be a disas—-what if—and then there's—does he—fu—sh–I–erm—I mean—" Hermione's fatigued ramblings ended by her planting her face on the table.
"Hermione?" Remus looked up at him and mouthed: What the hell was that?
"Are you alright, love?" Severus patted her head.
Hermione lifted her head just enough to nod. "Yeah, j-just thinking i-it's not really not my place to have that meeting. I couldn't do that to h–them-them-I said 'them'!"
"So, what we know is that your little ring leader isn't the Sloane child," Severus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. That leaves O'Malley—that boy is unremarkable, so not likely—Lovegood—too scattered—or perhaps Delanely. Damn it, Hermione, if you were going to slip up, couldn't you have said the whole word of either "him" or "her"?
"I can tell the headmaster that you're ill," Severus offered. "That'll give you enough time to contact your little friends. Perhaps rethink the whole thing?"
"Yeah," Hermione sighed, getting up from the table. "It's–it's–erm–-probably for the best. I am feeling a bit peaky. Thanks, Dad."
"Or," Remus began.
Remus, don't… Severus looked at his child. He'd thought he'd at last put the foolish idea to rest before any permanent damage could be done, but Remus stood to resurrect the damn thing.
"What if you attended and told your friends about it? If you want a future in journalism, going legitimate is a great start, Hermione."
"I–erm–" Hermione clasped her hands once more and bit her lip. "I just don't know…"
"Hey," Remus placed a hand on her shoulder. "It's just a meeting, Hermione. You can do this."
Hermione granted Remus a sheepish smile. "Y-you th-think?"
Remus opened his mouth and Severus knew he had to speak.
"Whatever your decision, little girl," he set his hand on Hermione's head again. "It's hours from now and you need the rest."
Hermione's eyes drifted to a far corner of the room. "Yes, sir, I-I'll see you in a few hours."
The two watched Hermione retreat to her bedroom, and Severus knew she'd be cursing his name. One day she would thank him. No, it's better if she never realises what could have been avoided...
He cast muffliato on the door and turned to a very confused Remus.
"Could you stop filling my daughter's head with poison!"
"Poison?!" Remus gestured to the girl's bedroom. "If you think the slightest bit of encouragement is poison then that girl really does have no hope!"
"And why should she?" Severus snapped. "So, they can have more to tear down? You don't get it, people like—" he shook his head. "I'm just trying to protect my daughter."
Remus's lips twisted and a series of emotions flashed through his pale green eyes before finally settling on one; rage. "People like what, Severus? Because in case you'd forgotten, I'm a bloody werewolf! Anything you two had thrown at you, I did to, and fucking worse!"
"Worse?!" Severus scoffed. "Oh that's fucking rich!"
"Is it?" Remus laughed bitterly. "Last I checked while you were getting your ARCANE papers published I was wandering the goddamn streets! Couldn't stay anywhere more than a month, because once anyone knew, I would have people out to kill me. I won't say your life was easy, but don't you fucking dare imply mine was!"
That did catch Severus off guard. Remus so often seemed like an open book, he knew he travelled out of necessity, he knew that Remus's condition was a persecuted one, but for some reason, it never occurred to him that people had tried to kill him. As if the premature ageing and decreased life span weren't enough, he survived attempted murders. How could he not have seen it before?
"I never implied your life was easy," he sighed, folding his arms across his chest. "But you've survived enough to know that she needs—"
"Something to hold on to, Severus," Remus softened his tone. "You really should know that by now. And so much of her hardships come from not knowing her mother. If she knew—"
"No, no, no!" Severus leapt to his feet and turned his gaze to the shut door. "No. She can't. Trust me, here. If anyone knew, even just her, the impact on her life…it would be devastating. She can't."
Remus did something truly strange. He took Severus's hands and pressed his forehead against his own. Weren't they just fighting?
"Okay, Severus," he said. "I believe you. But you need to think about what you think you're protecting her from."
"I know precisely what I'm protecting her from, Remus."
A silence prevaded, and Severus wondered how to explain it. Then wondered why he needed to explain it. Remus knew just how cruel the world was, so shouldn't he also want Hermione sheltered from it?
"Merlin," Remus spoke softly. "I feel like we always fight about Hermione. I don't even remember fighting about anything else."
"That shouldn't surprise you," he sighed. "We've been fighting about her since before we got together."
That was true. Severus remembered the past year, still unsure when they decided to be lovers, after months of animosity. Though he did remember when Remus went from a danger to Hermione to a conduit of jealousy for him.
"I don't know why she always does that," Potter grumbled. "Reckon Snape's brainwashed her. You're probably the nicest person to her here."
Remus merely chuckled at this. "He thinks he's looking out for her, can hardly begrudge him that."
"She should," Potter grumbled. "Instead of taking it out on you. I'm going to get the third degree for this meeting. I hate that. You're the single best teacher we've had, you knew my dad when you were our age and I—" he sighed looking to the window.
"I know, Harry," Remus placed a hand on Potter's shoulder and smiled. "If things were different, I would have loved to watch you grow up. Were I lucky enough to have children I imagine they would have been much like you and Hermione."
Potter smiled. "I reckon you'd be great. I wish my parents chose you instead of my aunt and uncle."
Remus broke eye-contact with Potter. "They didn't—they had their reasons, Harry. But I'm glad I finally got to see how you've grown."
"Erm–thanks," Potter's cheeks flushed. "Though you said Hermione too? Why?"
"Originally, I just felt guilty," he shrugged. "But now, she's like the daughter I never had."
Daughter you never had?! I fucking knew it! Severus approached the pair. If they wanted this clearly private conversation to be respected, they shouldn't have been having it leaning out a window in a bloody corridor.
"Before you move this touching little moment to a more appropriate private location," Severus sneered.
Potter glared at him and Remus set a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Keep a level head, Harry. What was it you wanted to say, Severus?"
"I just wanted to remind you that you have absolutely no business with my child outside of class," he lowered his voice to a near whisper. "And that I know your little secret, Hermione may not be so keen if she ever found out. In fact, I doubt anyone would."
"Severus–"
"Stay the hell away from my daughter, Lupin," he hissed. "I won't say it again."
Why'd I have to be so damn jealous? Severus pondered, knowing that with every shared interest, every confidence, and every giggle his jealousy threatened to return. It wasn't fair. Shouldn't he want his partner to get along with his child? Remus's instant connection with Hermione should have been a boon for their relationship, not an instigator for conflict.
No, he decided silently. It has nothing to do with that. Remus is setting that poor girl on a difficult (at best and dangerous at worst!) path. I'd be a rubbish father if I didn't say something…
"Severus?"
Severus sighed and filled the kettle and hung it before lighting the fireplace. "I'll talk to her. But you must know that after thirteen years I know what's best for her. You've only been in her life a short while, I'm not certain you have a grasp on what she can and can't handle."
Remus shook his head and placed his hand on Severus's back. "She might surprise you."
Which is precisely what I'm afraid of… but all he said was: "Perhaps she will. Tea?"
Hermione didn't sleep. She could hear the familiar buzzing in her ears and knew they were fighting again. Did her father think she was an idiot? Using muffliato on her, conjuring a wasp and lying about it on the street and wiping her memory? Did he think magic solved every problem?
She rolled her eyes and set to work, opening her notes on psychic links and horcruxes. She knew some connection had to let Voldemort into Harry's mind. Hermione took her cork board off her wall, a stretch of red yarn and started writing her clues out on scrap parchment.
31 October 1981
Attack, Harry survives.
His parents are murdered
Harry has a scar
1 September 1991,
Harry's scar hurts when in presence of V
1 August 1994,
Scar hurts when having dreams of a place he's never been in
Psychic connection? Legillimancy from a distance?
Summer 1991...Earlier?
Quirell finds V somehow?
Connects to soul fragment
Quirrell dies from Harry's touch and soul fragment goes somewhere.
July-August 1994,
Harry visions of disembodied floating through old manor.
Connected to V's past?
31 December 1937,
V born to unnamed mother, young.
Wool's Orphanage—no longer exists— get files?
Hermione pondered on how she could get a hold of fifty-three-year-old files and where she might find them. Could she get away with pretending to be him and requesting his birth mother's contact information? She could still be alive, and Hermione didn't imagine it was rare for adoptees to request information once they were adults. But who would she ask? And what lie could explain why RIddle was reaching out fifty-three years after the fact rather than eighteen?
The buzzing in Hermione's ears stopped and she assumed the fighting prepared to pin her red string to her clues when she heard the door knob turn. Hermione quickly shoved her work beneath the bed and grabbed Facing the Faceless off her bedside cabinet, aiming to look as if she were completely absorbed.
"I had a feeling you might not be sleeping,"her father entered the room without hesitation, a steaming mug in his hands. "I brought you tea."
"Thanks, Dad," she gingerly took the mug, wondering if it were spiked with sleeping potion or if it were simply a peace offering.
The steam, colouration, scent and thickness all seemed to suggest the latter. The hand he placed on her head only confirmed it. "Is everything alright?"
"Of course, love," he sat beside her and began soothing her hair.
Then why did you cast mufflato? Hermione opened her mouth, but thought better of it.
Her father, however, did address it. "I suppose you're familiar enough with the effects of a spell I taught you at eleven. But you don't need to hear every disagreement between the adults in your life. It's better this way, you'll have to trust me on that."
Hermione nodded and stared into her mug. She thought of that boy from the pensieve Dumbledore showed her. Black eyes wide as he begged Dumbledore not to send him home. What horrible things did he have to endure at her age?
I can't think of that with him in the room. She pushed it down in favour of safer thoughts. Or at least one she knew she needed to address.
"You really don't think I'm cut out for journalism, don't you?"
"You're thirteen, Hermione," he sighed. "The things you choose to report on, they're far beyond the scope of a silly school paper. The fact that you're so worried about preserving your anonymity speaks to that. And if I'm being perfectly frank, I'm not entirely certain that this is your dream and not that boy's. You never once mentioned an interest in journalism before your first summer in Japan."
Hermione stared at her father, unsure what to say to him. How could he think that? Did he really believe she didn't have a mind of her own? It was true, Hiro introduced her to journalism, and she loved him completely, but she had a drive for investigating and reporting. Since second year the Herald was a labour of love, and she couldn't imagine doing anything else.
"That's because that was my first time reporting, Dad," she argued. "And that 'silly school paper' is—it's–it's—-" Hermione clutched the tea in her hands and breathed. "It's really important to me." she sighed.
"And the Yamato boy has nothing to do with it?"
"Hiro did introduce me to it," Hermione mused. "And when we're married—-"
"Hermione," he intoned with an edge. "That boy is in no way prepared to offer marriage, nor are you prepared to accept it."
"And why not?" Hermione scoffed, leaping to her feet and clasping her hands before her. 1..2...3.. "W-we're in love! I-isn't th-that all that we need?"
Her father got to his feet, his two metres of height looming over her. "You're not in love, you're thirteen! You have no idea what that kind of commitment entails."
"I-I-I'm nearly fourteen," Hermione insisted. "An-and Hiro's sixteen in December."
Her father pinched the bridge of his nose. "How do you not see how that makes it worse?"
Hermione dug her fingernails deep into her hands and tried to steady her breathing. How did it come to this? Weren't things fine before? And what the hell did he have against Hiro anyway? He was the kindest, sweetest and all around best person on the planet. How could he not see that? Was there even a point in saying anything? He would only dismiss. He dismissed everything.
"Perhaps I'm too much of a little idiot to see your point," Hermione said coolly.
"I crave your pardon?" her father challenged.
"D-did I mumble?" Hermione dug her nails deeper and prepared for her father's backlash.
"Hermione Elizabeth Lilium Snape!" her father shouted. "What the hell has gotten into you?!"
Hermione swallowed and counted to three before forcing a composed, straight posture, an assured smirk and cool tone. "Oh, it was probably Hiro."
"Hermione!" he roared. "I don't know where the hell this attitude of yours came from, but I suggest you drop it before you say anything else you'll sorely regret."
Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but suddenly lost her will. How could she say something so brazen and then just lose her will entirely? She had to know that would be his reaction, hell,maybe she wanted that reaction...If he was going to be so dismissive of the love of her life, then he could deal with a bit of ire. He deserved it.
You really are a petty little bitch,aren't you? Hermione thought to herself. No wonder your mother left you. Probably left in Wok Choi's dumpster.
"It seems you already do," he sighed, folding his arms over his chest. "At least you have enough sense to stop while you're ahead."
"Sorry, sir," Hermione stared at her clasped hands wishing she still had the time-turner.
"Right," he stood straighter. "I'm your father and I will not be spoken to that way ever again, am I understood.
"Yes, sir," she said.
"Very well," he said. "You're grounded. I'll figure out the exact conditions of that later. For the time being…" he sighed and his expression softened. "Get some sleep before you do or say something else stupid, yes?"
Hermione sat back on the bed, unsure what to do or say next other than:
"Yes, sir."
"Herm—" he began before sighing and turning to leave.
You stupid, stupid,stupid little girl! Hermione chastised herself before falling back into the bed and wished once more she could take it all back.
"I'm sorry, sweet," her father sat beside her on the bed.
"It's okay, Daddy," she looked up at her father and smiled with an easy shrug. "I knew we couldn't do it. I don't think I'm much of a quidditch fan anyway. I think I just wanted to go."
Her father smiled and squeezed her shoulders. "That's my lovely little Luna."
"Wouldn't I be whether or not I wanted to go?" Luna blinked up at her father,teasingly.
Luna relished her father's unabashed laughter, loving that he didn't have those silly filters like all other grown ups. Sure Xenophilius Lovegood was bizarre with his shoulder length, silver hair and matching trinkets, along with blue eyes that drifted off in different directions, but he was never fake. Luna admired that about him.
This extended to the world around him. Luna's father was not only uncompromising about his feelings, but he was also willing to face the truth. Crumple-horned snorkaks were real, the ministry hid an army of inferi, and all other sorts of things were hidden. But Luna's dad dared to expose them with his tireless work in the Quibbler and Luna hoped to do the same in the Herald.
And maybe I want...Luna guessed she did have some limits. Almost two years and she still couldn't confess...but how could she when…
"What's up, my little luna moth?" he asked.
Luna smiled sheepishly. "I–erm–Daddy, can you tell me about when you and Mummy met again?"
"Well," he mused. "I will never know how I went almost six years without talking to her. She was graduating and kept to herself, sweet and helpful, but very ambitious. Pandora—Mummy—always told my that the sorting hat didn't know what to do with her. Wanted her Slytherin–then said 'no,no,no, you have the courage to be yourself, clearly Gryffindor—wait—so wise for one so young–perhaps Ravenclaw—then—-"
"It asked Mummy what she would do if someone wanted to hurt her," Luna beamed recalling the tale. "And she said 'I would make them my best friend!' so it put her in Hufflepuff!"
"That's right!" her father laughed. "And you're so much like her. You have her hair, her brilliant eyes and her beautiful smile! I swear you look more like her everyday."
"I do?" she asked. "So, I'm pretty?"
"Beautiful," her father assured her before gasping. "Wait, this isn't about a boy, is it?"
Luna wasn't prone to blushing, or fits of shyness—as cute as some made them—but she felt both happen as she looked away. "A girl, Daddy."
"A girl!" He mused, shifting a bit. "That's just like you, marching to the beat of your own drummer. Wh–Who's—erm—the lucky lass?"
"Only the prettiest, cutest, cleverest, bravest girl in the whole world!" Luna declared, leaping to her feet on the bed, pointing to the sky and beaming.
"Oh?" her father smiled back. "And does she know?"
Luna deflated and curled up against her father's chest with a dramatic sigh, while he placed his arms around her. "I've been trying to tell her for so long, Daddy. I'm starting to feel like I'm actually going mad!"
"Well, if she doesn't see that you're the prettiest, cutest, cleverest, bravest girl in the whole world, then she's the mad one."
Luna smiled and felt her tensed muscles unfurl. He might have been off in his assessment, but her father never failed to comfort her.
"3 OWLs?!" Ginny's mum screamed at the twins. "BUT YOU CAN EXTEND THAT POOR MUGGLE BOY'S TONGUE—"
Ginny rolled her eyes and looked to her pile of hand-me-down school books, hating how rough Ron was on their spines. She groaned and broke out the spello tape, wondering if he even cared that the books had to last long enough to get her through the school year.
Alright, maybe some of the blame should be placed on the twins…she admitted to herself. Whoever was responsible, she was sure to look like a rough menace who couldn't care for her things.
Growing up with six brothers, Ginny never cared too much for the delicate things that her classmates did, but she did care if Harry knew she was a girl. She looked at her waist-length flaming locks, pallid freckled face that muddy brown eyes. She liked each feature individually, but couldn't stand them in concert. And she was so bloody short! The only person she knew shorter than her (that wasn't a first year) was Flitwick, and possibly Hermione. But one had dwarfism, and the other lost a year of growth.
How could I be thinking of that when I am going to the bleeding Quidditch World Cup! The biggest event, and I could see the pros at it. Kids with families like ours dream of this. I can't wait to watch Ireland crush those Bulgarians!
Ron was a staunch Krum fanboy, and Ginny took what was left. But with a Seeker like Lynch, it wasn't like Ginny was left with rubbish. And she longed to see Ron's smug face fall when his team lost to his baby sister's.
Though with Harry watching, Ginny couldn't rub it in too much. If I could just get the courage to speak to him…But how can I after that night?
A soft rapping on the door interrupted Ginny's thoughts and thanked the interruption to her darker thoughts. Ginny collected herself and opened the door.
Arthur Weasley entered the small bedroom with a plate of bangers and mash and a smile on his thin lips. Ginny peered into her dad's horn-rimmed glasses and wished she had his soft blue eyes.
"You didn't come down for dinner. Was it a bit—"
"He's a prat just like Percy! He deserved it!" Fred shouted.
"DON'T YOU—"
"Crowded?" Ginny finished with a smirk. "Maybe it was loud."
"I reckon it was," her dad smiled. "But I think there was something else. Maybe our house guest?"
"You know I'm excited for Bill and Charlie to come, Dad," she rolled her eyes.
"I meant the other one," her dad raised his red eye-brows.
"Dad!" Ginny whispered before rushing to shut the bedroom door. "You can't just—it's—"
"We all love Harry," her dad said. "He's a great lad, but his aunt and uncle don't seem to see it. But if you're—uncomfortable, Ginny."
Ginny felt her cheeks flush. "No, Dad! I'm not uncomfortable. I promise."
"But you're so much quieter, my heart," her dad smiled. "It's like when he's hear you lose a bit of that spark. Your mum and I are worried.
"I just—" Ginny shook her head. "I just want to take back what I did. Harry is a great lad, and I hurt him. But I also think I–He'll never forgive me."
"But he already has, Gin," her dad assured her. "He asked after you, you know?"
"Because 'he's a great lad', dad," Ginny smiled. "He'll always be a hero, and I'm just—"
"An amazing young woman who made a mistake and was taken advantage of," her dad wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
Warmth flooded Ginny's chest and for a moment, while he smiled, she believed it, throwing her arms around the lanky man. "Thanks, Dad."
"Why is that?" Dumbledore asked, but the knowing twinkle interrogated them.
Months into their relationship and Remus still couldn't tell what Dumbledore was to Severus and Hermione. The old man was headmaster, employer, friend and, at times, it seemed he was a father and grandfather to the two. But other times it felt like he saw Severus as a means to an end.
And where did that leave Remus with this bizarre little family? Partner, godfather, co-worker, counsellor and employee?
"She seems to think it's funny to answer the question of 'what's gotten into her' with her boyfriend's name."
Dumbledore stifled a chuckle.
"The girl is thirteen!" Severus snapped. "Far too young to even think...that horrid boy!"
"Shall I warn headmaster Yamato to keep an eye on his grandson, Severus?" Dumbledore challenged.
"Let's just say, I didn't think I'd ever find a boy I despised more than Potter."
Ronald Weasley, Remus thought to volunteer the name. While his partner did whatever he could to make Harry's life miserable, he certainly noticed Severus's even shorter patience with the youngest Weasley boy. Remus tried to reason with him, but he knew how Ron's behaviour toward Hermione probably looked from the outside.
Though, Severus had a point. Remus also wanted to sit Hermione down and remind her that she was still just a child. But he knew it would fall on deaf ears. It was a silly crush and Severus just had to let their–no just Severus's, he made that plenty clear–daughter find her own way,
"I see," Dumbledore smirked. "You're her father, and I expect you know best. Though I am surprised that you would turn away a once in a life-time opportunity for her."
Severus folded his arms over his chest and Remus could see in the tapping fingers his partner trying to keep his cool. "That may be the case, but she's grounded, I walk that back now and any future punishments are meaningless. Hermione can't stand quidditch, crowds and noise. All of which would be present at the Quidditch World Cup. It would be a waste of a ticket. And how did the Weasley's get a hold of ten tickets? I doubt they simply found them on the ground."
Dumbledore held up both his hands and sighed with a smile."You got me, Severus, I purchased the tickets and gave them to Arthur's colleague."
"Along with enough for said colleague and his family, no doubt?" Severus straightened his posture and raised a challenging eyebrow.
"Yes, Severus," Dumbledore stroked his beard. "I seldom feel up to doing things in my older years, my food and board barely dent my salary. It was an easy decision to make and give Hermione the chance to report on a major world event."
Severus stopped thrumming his fingers on his folded arms and rose from his chair opposite the old man's desk. Remus thought to reach for his hand, providing some level of comfort, but retracted it. He looked back to Dumbledore, suddenly thinking he did not like this side of the old man. One he imagined Severus saw more than once.
Remus tried to reconcile the sweet old man with the plotting one he always knew existed but never saw. Dumbledore has to be that way, we're at war…but why involve the kids? What's your game here?
"Please don't insult my intelligence by insisting this was about Hermione's silly little aspirations of being an investigative reporter," Severus intoned.
Dumbledore smiled. "You're far too suspicious, Severus."
"Is he though?" Remus asked, rising himself. "If it were about the Herald, wouldn't it be better to invite Luna and Colin? Or anyone else that worked on it? Listen, Pr–Albus. I appreciate that you thought of Harry and his friends, but it's clear Hermione was an afterthought."
"As she often is," Severus seethed. "You once thought the world of her."
Dumbledore averted his gaze and sighed. "I still do, Severus. Which is why I kept her in mind when I coordinated this for Harry. I wanted to do something for both of them…"
Severus opened his mouth before shaking his head and sitting back down. "Luckily, you're a terrible liar. I believe you."
Remus wished he'd stayed home with Hermione. He couldn't track the strange dynamic between the two of them, and he was starting to believe he wasn't providing either his partner or goddaughter any good by being at that meeting.
"So," Dumbledore's whimsical smile returned to his face. "You'll let her go,then?"
"Oh, hell no," Severus scoffed. "She's still grounded."
"I see," Dumbledore mused. "Is that really fair?"
"Hermione did say some awful things, Albus," Remus reminded him. "It would make sense for her to deal with the consequences for at least a couple weeks."
"Or until she's forty," Severus muttered.
"We're not even forty, Severus," Remus whispered.
"And daughters age you by at least a decade," Severus sighed. "You'll see."
Remus couldn't help but laugh at that before turning back to an amused Dumbledore.
"I admire your commitment to your word," Albus chuckled. "Though, I must say, I'm surprised, Severus."
Severus's mouth twitched and he folded his arms over his chest again and raised his eyebrow."Oh?"
"I am," Dumbledore nodded, his eyes twinkling. "I thought you would be relieved for Hermione to write about the World Cup and be too distracted to report on Peter Pettigrew's upcoming trial."
Severus opened his mouth, and Remus saw a million thoughts whirl through his black eyes. Anger,disbelief, and then fear.
That was why Severus hated Hermione's paper. Remus knew she was currently working on a piece about Peter, but somehow thought a school paper wouldn't attract any unwanted attention. A thought he was beginning to see as foolish when Severus's lips pressed into a hard line.
"Shit," he spat.
"What am I to do with her?" Severus paced the length of their bedroom. "She just got back, and nearly...but of course Dumbledore's right; she would just continue on that Pettigrew piece and publish it without a damn thought to the Ministry's desire to keep it quiet But I can't just send her off to a bloody tournament with thousands, and God knows what kind of—" Severus shook his head, unwilling to speak whatever awful thing he imagined. "Even if no one means to harm her, I can't just send my thirteen-year-old daughter alone to such a big event. It's not safe."
"Severus," Remus sighed, taking his partner's cold hands. "Look at me. Hermione won't be alone. Arthur Weasley will be with her the entire time. The older boys are all of age too. She'll be surrounded by capable wizards that want nothing more than for her and the other kids to be safe."
Severus sighed and visibly deflated. "I don't like this, Remus."
"Hey," Remus smiled up at Severus and placed a hand on his cheek. "It's one week. What's the worst that could happen?"
"Why would you think to ask me that?!" he snapped before turning away. "She could lean over too far and plummet from the stands, she could easily get lost, have a panic attack due to the crowd—that's happened before, you know—she could be trampled by the fevered crowd—and these are the tamer things I can imagine!"
Remus winced. Now he was imagining all those impossible things. And more. Hermione was a sweet child, harmless and no one should want to harm her. But Remus was much younger and more harmless than Hermione when he was attacked. He—and it seemed Severus—didn't have the luxury of thinking children were safe just because they were children.
I won't add that to his visions of disaster, Remus decided and wrapped his arms around him, leaning his cheek against his back.
"I hate this," Severus whispered.
"I know," Remus rested his chin on his shoulder. "But, listen, Severus, nothing is going to happen to Hermione. Can you repeat that?"
Severus turned to face him and squeezed his hands. "We can't know that."
"Severus," Remus rose his eyebrows.
"But–"
"Nothing is going to happen to Hermione."
Severus inhaled deeply and his grip tightened on Remus's hands. "Nothing is going to happen to Hermione."
"There," Remus smiled. "Don't you feel better?"
"Prat."