Chapter Text
Hermione
“Hermione! Hurry up, dear, they’ll be here in thirty minutes, and we’d like to speak with you before then!”
Hermione frowned at the door to her room. There was something off about Mum’s voice. She wasn’t as close to her parents as she used to be but none of the Grangers was stupid; they knew each other well. Well enough for Mum and Dad to know their daughter would’ve been completely packed two days ago save for the books and clothes she needed for the intervening time.
She had a point, though, about the Greengrasses being here soon, so Hermione was quick about stacking Uncommon Arithmancy and Dark Wizards and Witches of the Twentieth Century into her trunk—both illegal for Muggle-borns to own and both transfigured to look like generic history books before she left school—before she slammed the thing shut.
The first of the two books was her own interest. The second she’d been reading at Harry’s request. He was being his usual infuriatingly secretive self, and had only requested that she help him look into the actual details of the war. “Everyone calls it a war but they don’t talk about anyone actually doing anything,” he’d said tightly. Hermione had asked where his sudden interest came from and he gave her the look that said stop pushing and she promptly shut up.
As it turned out, there was a lot of fascinating detail to be found in the books Muggle-borns weren’t allowed to own and that Hogwarts consequently did not keep in the library. Augusta loved the brilliant Muggle-born Gryffindor who was her grandson’s closest friend in the lions’ den, so she responded to Neville’s letter with a magically expanded bag of books that made Hermione’s eyes gleam with hunger.
Merlin, she loved reading.
The only thing she kept out of the trunk was her journal and a self-inking fountain pen. Hermione jammed the pen into her hair—bushy as it had been at eleven since she couldn’t use hair charms during the summer and Muggle methods were too slow to bother with—tucked the journal under her arm, and hauled her trunk downstairs.
She deposited it in the entry hall. “Mum, Dad, I was wondering if—”
Hermione stopped dead in the door to the kitchen.
Professor McGonagall of all people was sitting at her kitchen table.
Several years of hanging out with Slytherins and Justin kicked in and Hermione smiled brightly. “Professor McGonagall! What a pleasant surprise,” she said, sitting down smartly across from Mum. The round table had four seats. Dad was on her left and McGonagall on her right. “I was working on the summer Transfiguration essay just last night, and I had some questions about the Morgothal Principles—”
“Those are sixth year subjects,” McGonagall said.
“I know,” Hermione said, squirming a little. She both hated and loved when teachers recognized how far ahead she was in class, and she’d been sitting on these questions for ages, since Harry and Pansy were insistent they not reveal themselves to be studying anything more than a year above their current level. Harry’s self-transfiguration stunt in the second task blew that out of the water for him (ha) but that could be explained away as desperation and focused study and help from his similarly high-achieving friends. “But it can only help my OWL score to understand Transfiguration theory on a deeper level…”
“That’s our Hermione,” Mum said proudly. “Always working so hard.”
Hermione beamed at her. Mum and Dad didn’t understand her classes but they liked listening to her (edited) stories anyway, and it helped a lot since Daphne and Justin suggested that she phrase things in terms of Muggle concepts. She told her parents Potions was a combination of pharmacology and chemistry, Herbology was biology, Arithmancy was higher mathematics, and Ancient Runes was languages, and they’d gotten much more relaxed about her pursuing a magical career. Hermione couldn’t blame them for worrying that the magical world might not provide their daughter a good future, not when they had no way of looking into it themselves, and conversations about school had been infinitely easier since she started talking about it with the comparison angle in mind.
“So long as it is only theory,” McGonagall said.
Oh, it is, at least until I get to Greengrass Manor where the bloody Trace can’t catch me. Hermione opened her mouth to say something about how important the Trace was for responsible use of underage magic and how she’d never break the Decree.
“Hermione, dear, I don’t think we have time for academic questions,” Dad said, covering one of her hands with his own.
Hermione frowned. “They’re not here for another… forty-five minutes…”
“The Greengrass family is actually what I came to speak with you about,” McGonagall said in clipped tones.
Oh. Oh no. Daphne and Pansy had suspected this but Hermione didn’t think—
“Hermione,” Mum said hesitantly, “these people you’re going to stay with…”
“The Greengrasses,” Hermione supplied. “One of my best friends, and her sister, and their parents.”
“Right,” Dad said. “Well, Minerva explained some things, and they sound like, well—”
“Like their family belongs to the magical equivalent of the Klu Klux Klan,” Mum said. She was always the one who said hard things without flinching. Hermione got that from her.
Hermione could feel her hair starting to crackle and did her best to hold her magic in. Merlin, but she hated the Trace. Tossing small spells around at school kept it easier to manage; her magic seemed to get pissy in the summers when she couldn’t use it. “They are not.”
“Miss Granger, the Greengrasses were known to align with the Death Eaters in the war,” McGonagall said.
Hermione stared at her once-favorite professor. “Please, Professor, I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine,” she insisted. “Really. Daphne has never been anything but kind to Muggle-borns at Hogwarts—” aside from the first few months of first year, before Hermione and Justin proved to be more than gawking tourists— “and the Greengrasses have a potions laboratory I can work in.” Not to mention wards, a Floo, a proper pureblood library, and exemption from the Trace. And one of her closest friends. “Astoria—Daphne’s sister—she’s been really nice when I’ve talked to her, one of her best friends is a halfblood, and she looked out for the Muggle-born in Slytherin last year. I haven’t seen any of that blood prejudice nonsense from them and I feel perfectly safe around their family.”
It was a good speech; Pansy had helped her figure out how to respond if this came up, and she saw her parents start to relax—
“Miss Granger, I don’t think you understand how Slytherins operate,” McGonagall insisted. “They play the long game—it’s entirely possible the children have been ordered to cultivate various Muggle-borns in order to make the family more politically acceptable.”
Her parents looked aghast. “That’s horrid,” said Mum. “Using children as political chess pieces—”
Hermione wanted to bang her head on the table. Or her wand. They’d be distracted if she turned it into a boar. But then again that was way above her level and she shouldn’t be able to do it. And the Trace. “I’ve spent four years friends with Slytherins,” she said. “It’s insulting that you think I’m not smart enough to figure out how they work.”
“They don’t sound like… the best sorts of people,” Mum said. “Lying, deceitfulness, cunning…”
“Ambition,” Hermione countered. “Resourcefulness. Loyalty to one’s friends and family. Those aren’t bad traits. And nowhere does it say Slytherins have to lie or be deceitful. And cunning isn’t any different from clever or wily but there’s no bad connotation on those words. Mum, Dad, you met Harry on the platform. And Blaise, and Theo, and Daphne.”
“I suppose,” Dad said. “They were all such charming children…”
McGonagall pursed her lips. “I’m only looking out for what’s best for you, Miss Granger.”
“I know,” Hermione said, trying to smile. It didn’t feel like it was working right. She really wished she could do like Harry and Pansy and Blaise and just hitch a perfectly charming, charismatic expression up on her face at will. “I just really want to do well on my OWLs so I can get into a good job later…”
“Yes, and do you know what job that is?” Mum said, with a quick glance at McGonagall. Okay, so she still had to do some work on her parents.
“Experimental charms,” Hermione said.
McGonagall frowned. “A dangerous field.”
Hermione turned to her parents. “It involves the use of complicated Arithmancy—maths—and magical theory—basically looking at physics and chemistry but with magic involved—to create new spells and techniques,” she explained. “It’s one of the most difficult and challenging careers, but also a well-paid and rewarding one. That, or go into the Ministry and push for improved rights for sentient nonhumans like centaurs and house-elves, restoration of full-human status for werewolves…”
“Big dreams,” Mum said, looking mollified. “Are such things possible, ah, Minerva? It was my understanding that—children with nonmagical parents sometimes have limited options…”
“That’s the other reason I want to go to the Greengrass’ this summer,” Hermione butted in. McGonagall shut her mouth, annoyed that she couldn’t talk over Hermione without appearing rude. “They’re an established family and they have really good connections. I know Daphne really well but it’s hard to talk to anyone else when we’re all the way up in Scotland for school…”
“Ahhh,” Mum said. “So staying with her will allow you to make some connections in the summer—that makes perfect sense.” She grinned. “I went to science camps for the same reason.”
Dad looked at Professor McGonagall. “Are you sure these Greengrasses are so terrible? They’ve never been convicted of anything, have they?”
McGonagall looked like she was being force-fed lemon juice. “No. But the danger is worse now—”
“It’s like I told you,” Hermione said. She couldn’t lose control of the conversation, not now— “Things are really tense, politically, because the—You-Know-Who is back.” Damn. She’d almost slipped and said the Dark Lord. Only the Slytherins ever did that, and she was pretty sure it was a thing you used if you were sneakily in his camp, and she didn’t know what it meant that Harry used Dark Lord too, unlike Neville and Justin. It could just be him blending in with the Slytherins.
It could be something else.
“You-Know-Who… the one who caused the war, right?” Mum looked at Hermione. “Are you sure these friends of yours aren’t supporting him?”
“Yes,” Hermione said. No. She trusted the Greengrasses not to hurt her. And even if they did… Her fingers ran over a slender silver band on her right index finger, an emergency Portkey to Grimmauld Place. She didn’t even want to know how Harry got it.
“We spoke to them,” Dad said. “When we picked Hermione up. The seemed perfectly polite and reasonable people. None of this… anti-Muggle prejudice.”
McGonagall opened her mouth.
Someone knocked on the door.
“I’ll get it!” Hermione said instantly, dashing into the hall before anyone could move.
She hauled the door open. Daphne, Astoria, and Lord and Lady Greengrass stood on the other side. Hermione thanked Merlin in her head that they were all wearing fairly casual robes.
Daphne didn’t smile, but there was a welcome in her eyes. Astoria, who could probably charm a rock, beamed. “Hermione!”
“A pleasure, Miss Granger,” Roxanne Greengrass said with a smile.
“Well met, Lord and Lady Greengrass, Daphne, Astoria,” Hermione said. She dropped her voice to a whisper. “McGonagall’s here.” Back to normal volume. “Welcome to my family home. Please, come inside.”
“Thank you,” Mason Greengrass said, dipping his head as he led his family across the threshold.
“What for?” Daphne hissed.
Hermione gave her a look that said what do you bloody think she’s here for? “My parents are just here, in the kitchen, and another guest.”
She was first to go back into the kitchen, followed by Astoria, Daphne, and finally their parents.
“Mr. Greengrass,” Dad said with a smile. He stood up and offered his hand to shake. Hermione winced; it was the social superior who chose to extend a hand in greeting or not in such meetings, and Dad couldn’t have known that but—
Lord Greengrass dismissed the unintended snub with a return smile and a firm handshake. “Mr. Granger! Excellent to see you again. And you, Mrs. Granger.”
“I was delighted to hear Daphne and Hermione wished to spend more time together this summer,” Lady Greengrass said sweetly, shaking hands with Mum and Dad. “Daphne has so few female friends…”
Daphne, hidden behind her father, made a face only Hermione saw.
“And Professor McGonagall!” Lord Greengrass continued. “We certainly weren’t expecting to see you here.”
His voice had a bit of bite now.
“It is my duty as Head of Gryffindor House at Hogwarts to ensure the well-being of all my charges,” McGonagall said stiffly.
Hermione very deliberately slung an arm around Daphne’s shoulders, channeling Pansy or Luna. “She’s just been talking to my parents,” Hermione said.
“Lovely to see Hogwarts putting in more of an effort to look out for its Muggle-born students,” Lady Greengrass said.
Oh, she was good. Hermione bit back a grin. Slytherins through and through, this whole family. Now McGonagall was backed into a verbal corner.
“What’s this for?”
Everyone turned to look at Astoria. The tension in the room didn’t go down, exactly, but it changed targets. McGonagall was watching the Greengrasses closely.
“It’s an espresso machine,” Mum said hesitantly.
“Cool.” Astoria leaned in close, careful not to touch the buttons. “How does it work? What’s the cable for?”
“It’s… a plug,” Mum said. “It connects the espresso machine to the electrical wire in the walls.”
“Electric,” Astoria said. “I thought Romilda was pulling my leg about Muggles powering their homes with lightning! How do you get it?”
Hermione looked anxiously at her parents, but Dad was grinning and even Mum seemed charmed. Professor McGonagall stood helplessly next to the table.
Dad started talking about solar power and fossil fuels and hydropower and windmills and geothermal energy.
“Wow,” Astoria said. Her face was open and sweet and innocent. Hermione thought maybe someone had told her to be interested in the Muggle things to make a good impression but even if it was fake she was doing a fantastic job. “Are those powered by it, too?”
She pointed up at the ceiling.
“Yes,” Dad said.
“How do the… wires carry eklectricity?”
“Electricity,” Daphne corrected.
Astoria nodded. “Right, that.”
“You know how we talk about atoms and molecules in Transfiguration?” Hermione said. Astoria just finished her second year, they should’ve at least covered that.
“Yeah.”
“It’s in how the metals bond together,” Hermione said. “Metal atoms, when they’re not melted, bond together in a sort of stack, and the electrons—those are pieces of the atoms—they can move from one to the other.”
“Electrons,” Astoria said. “Electricity.”
“Exactly.” Hermione grinned at her. “Electricity is just putting energy in at one end and then electrons move along the wire and it comes out the other. It’s more complicated but that’s the gist.”
“I wonder if magic would work like that,” Astoria mused, peering down the garbage dispenser.
Professor McGonagall coughed. “Such things are considered alchemy, Miss Greengrass, and far above your level.”
Astoria shrugged like she didn’t care.
“Turning things into gold?” Dad said doubtfully.
“At its most basic, all matter is made of the same pieces, Mr. Granger,” Lady Greengrass said. “Alchemy is merely a matter of providing enough power to rearrange the pieces.”
“Like theoretical physics!” Mum looked delighted to have one of her pet interests come up. She and Dad were dentists but the shelves in their living room were covered with books on everything from psychology to rocket science. “Quarks and muons and electrons?”
“I believe alchemists have different terms, but they’re likely the same pieces,” Lady Greengrass said. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you more; it’s hardly my area of expertise.”
“Yes, you’re a fashion designer, right?” Mum said.
“Fashion and business. I run a clothing company,” Lady Greengrass said.
“And you, Mr. Greengrass?”
Hermione wanted to bury her head in her hands. How humiliating. Her parents were grilling the Lord and Lady of a Noble House on their jobs.
Mr. Greengrass, thankfully, didn’t do more than blink. “I’m a lawyer,” he said. “My law firm is one of the most prominent in our world.”
“One of the partners represented Harry last year,” Daphne said. “He needed legal assistance, so of course I asked Father to step in.”
“Ms. Tate is an extremely skilled lawyer,” Lord Greengrass said with a proud smile. “She started as an intern and worked her way up to partner. She’ll inherit the firm if neither of my daughters wants it.” Daphne sniffed; Hermione knew she had zero interest in becoming a lawyer. “I knew she’d handle the case well.”
That did it. Both of Hermione’s parents had heard, in detail, about the trials and Harry’s horrid relatives. They’d met him only on the platform and like every other adult he ever met, they were completely charmed by him in a few minutes flat. Hermione had no bloody clue how he managed it that quickly but they adored the quiet, slender, dark-haired boy who’d been one of their daughter’s first real friends, and learning that Mr. Greengrass had been involved in legally rescuing him went a long way.
“I’m so glad you were able to help,” Dad said. “We heard such awful stories about the boy’s aunt and uncle from Hermione…”
“I can assure you, they were not exaggerated,” Lady Greengrass said with distaste. “It’s a miracle Black was exonerated or Hadrian may never have escaped.”
“I don’t think much of this justice system of yours,” Mum said darkly.
“It is indeed corrupt,” Lord Greengrass said. “Much of the corruption can be traced to one man.”
Her parents probably thought he meant Voldemort. Hermione was quite sure he was referring to Dumbledore, and found herself in complete agreement.
McGonagall’s nostrils flared. She understood what Lord Greengrass meant.
“That’s why I want to go into the Ministry,” Hermione told her parents. Experimental charms and creature legislation—both areas in desperate need of reform. One speaking to intellectual property, one to equal rights for all. She honestly could not say which made her more passionate.
She’d just have to change both.
“Opportunities in the Ministry are limited for Muggle-borns,” McGonagall said, looking at the Greengrasses like maybe they’d leave without Hermione if they remembered her blood status. Hermione tried not to roll her eyes. They were standing in a Muggle kitchen watching their younger daughter poke at the toaster oven. It wasn’t like they’d have forgotten.
“Many Muggle-borns do not choose to pursue Ministry careers,” Lady Greengrass said pleasantly. “I’m sure if Hermione works hard, she’ll go far. I know Mason and I are fond of her and we’d be happy to provide letters of recommendation and such, just as we will for Daphne’s other friends.”
Daphne slid a smirk at Hermione when no one was looking.
“That’s wonderful to hear,” Mum said. “I hear she’s looking forward to using your… laboratory this summer?”
“It’s a bit more Harry’s prerogative than ours,” Daphne said. “He’s the potions prodigy. Hermione and I have been doing some extracurricular work with arithmancy, but Harry’s projects involve arithmancy more often than not and we help out.”
Hermione grinned. They’d even gotten extra credit out of Vector for some of the work they’d done on the journals, except modified so it didn’t include the unconventional (to put it politely) runic arrays or the practical applications, since Harry insisted they keep the journals secret.
“Maths, then,” Mum said approvingly. “I’m sure you’ll have a lovely summer, Hermione.”
“I can’t wait,” Hermione said happily. “Thank you! I’ll write every week.”
“We’ll leave the upstairs window open,” Dad said with a laugh. “For the owls.”
Her parents thought the use of birds as a postal service was the funniest idea since the American intelligence people decided to try getting Hitler addicted to pornography.
“It was lovely to see you again,” Lady Greengrass said with a last society hostess smile.
“You as well,” Dad said. He put an arm around his wife. “We’ll enjoy the peace and quiet!”
“I am quiet,” Hermione said.
He grinned at her. “Don’t get into too much trouble, Hermione.”
She rolled her eyes. “Never.”
“I’ll watch her, Mr. Granger,” Daphne said solemnly.
Hermione nearly choked on the irony. Daphne keep her from breaking any rules? If you tallied up all the laws Daphne had ever broken, it would be a list as long as her arm.
They made it out the door with another round of goodbyes. Somehow Professor McGonagall ended up walking out with them; Lady Greengrass floated Hermione’s trunk down to the limousine (which made Hermione goggle until Daphne noticed and elbowed her) while McGonagall exchanged frosty pleasantries with Lord Greengrass.
“I’ll see you at school, Professor,” Hermione said, smiling. She was a little annoyed McGonagall had come here but the strict woman was still her favorite teacher. And she was just looking out for Hermione. Even if she was misguided about some things.
“Do owl me if you have any more questions about Morgothol’s principles,” McGonagall said. “I always like to encourage promising students.”
Hermione promised that she would and climbed into the limousine with Daphne and Astoria. McGonagall strode away, presumably to Apparate back to wherever she lived. Or possibly to Hogwarts to give Dumbledore a report.
“Your parents are lovely people, Hermione,” Lady Greengrass said as soon as the door closed (without anyone touching it).
The limousine was much bigger on the inside than on the outside. Everyone got a ridiculously comfortable leather chair and trays of drinks that never spilled floated between them. Hermione selected a crystal decanter of water. “Thank you, Lady Greengrass.”
“Surely we can do away with the formalities,” Lord Greengrass said. Daphne took after him, in her lean frame and light blond hair, but his eyes were brown like Astoria’s, and warm where his older daughter’s were icy. Especially when he smiled, like now. But there was still an intimidating aura around him that Hermione thought served him well in court. “You’re here under fosterage, after all. An honorary member of the family. Call us Mason and Roxanne.”
“Okay,” Hermione said, smiling and nodding politely. She was immensely relieved that they hadn’t asked her to call them Mother and Father. They were like… godparents. Magical godparents. Not her real parents.
Which she guessed made Daphne and Astoria her sisters in some way. Hermione glanced at Astoria, who was flipping through Witch Weekly, and Daphne, who sat in her chair with the kind of casual grace you saw in a jaguar right before it pounced.
“Tell us more about this arithmancy project you mentioned?” Roxanne said. “Daphne mentioned it…”
The girls shared a glance that was loaded with all their years of rivalry and friendship, and also a brief war about what Harry would want.
“We did some independent work with arithmancy and runes last year,” Daphne said.
“Harry and Theo have been taking extra languages with Professor Babbling for two years,” Hermione said. She still didn’t know why, but hopefully she could get it out of one of them this year. Harry and Theo weren’t the type to load up their plates with extra work unless they had a purpose for whatever they were learning. “And Justin—Finch-Fletchley—he and I and Daphne kind of focused more on the arithmancy side of it.”
Roxanne turned out to be quite skilled with arithmancy; apparently a lot of it went into the spells that her company used to process and manufacture wizards’ clothing. Hermione found herself fascinated by the process, yanked out her notebook, and flipped past the communication pages to those for private use to take notes.
“That’s a nice journal,” Lord Greengrass—Mason—said, nodding at it. “Daphne, you’ve got a similar one, haven’t you?”
Daphne smiled, thin and clever. “Yes, we’ve all got one. Matched set.”
“Very nice work,” Roxanne said, examining the one in Hermione’s lap.
Well, until they got a chance to talk to Harry about whether Daphne’s parents could know, then Hermione wouldn’t be telling. “Thank you,” she said instead.
They exhausted arithmancy. Hermione asked about the car, found out it was a courtesy vehicle shared by high-level Greengrass, Tate, & Morris employees when they had business in the Muggle world, and settled in to catch up with Daphne. Letters in the journals were nice and certainly faster than owl post but it wasn’t quite the same as talking face-to-face, and they’d been apart for three weeks.
Astoria set aside her magazine, eventually, and joined in. Hermione catalogued the irritable affection Daphne showed her sister, and the irreverent bubbly way Astoria just ignored it, which only seemed to irritate Daphne more.
Siblings were fascinating.
At least these two, unlike Jules and Harry, didn’t hex each other every five minutes. Hermione didn’t want to think what would happen if the Potter twins actually had to live together for an extended period of time.
Then the limousine pulled up outside a set of wrought iron gates half the height of Hermione’s house, and her jaw dropped.
“This is where you live?” she demanded.
Astoria grinned impishly. “Haven’t you been to Potter Manor?”
“Yes, but…” Hermione trailed off. She didn’t know what she was expecting. Hearing Greengrass Manor really should’ve tipped her off.
Mason and Roxanne were polite enough to hide their smiles in their own water glasses.
The drive was long and lined with trees whose leaves turned purple and trunks blueish-brown and shimmery once they got past the illusion spells on the gate and stone wall. It had the feel of a driveway not often used. More normal forest stretched out past the decorative trees, though Hermione had no doubt there were plenty of magical creatures and species out there. Manor homes were havens for the magical flora and fauna of the British Isles.
“There you are,” Roxanne said.
Hermione turned and looked out the window on the other side of the limousine. Her jaw dropped. “It’s gorgeous,” she breathed.
Greengrass Manor lived up to its name in every way. It appeared to be built of blackish-gray stone, more in the style of a castle than a really fancy brick house like Potter Manor, complete with a literal tower, albeit a small one. Seamless green fields surrounded it like an ocean. It was set in a bit of a dip in the land; the limousine crested the slight hill that had blocked it from sight and started down to the massive front doors.
“Greengrass Manor’s not the largest of the Ancient and Noble manor homes, but it’s among the oldest,” Mason said proudly. “Only the Ollivander and Black properties have us beat.”
“Something he never fails to hold over Malfoy at balls,” Astoria said with a smirk.
Hermione grinned. Draco was—less horrible now than he used to be but after hearing how he’d treated Dobby she was not fond of his father.
“We have acres of forestland,” Daphne explained, gesturing at the edges of the irregular grass-filled depression holding the manor, which were defined by a transition from fields to woods. “Have you ever ridden?”
“Horses?” Hermione squeaked. She didn’t like horses. They were big, and they smelled, and they had such large teeth—and she knew it was stupid and they were herbivores, but they were also prey animals that would lash out when cornered, and anything with teeth that size could make it hurt if it bit. Not to mention they kicked and usually weighed a lot more than she did.
“I’ll teach you,” Daphne said, smirking at her uncertainty. Hermione tried to school her features. “It’s quite fun once you get used to it.”
“We can all go riding!” Astoria said happily. “There’s loads of trails.”
“You girls go easy on Hermione,” Roxanne said with a Slytherin smile. “Horseback riding isn’t the sort of skill you can pick up easily.”
“Yes, Mother,” Daphne said.
Hermione glanced between them. Roxanne was curvier than either of her daughters, and brown-haired, but Daphne’s cold calculation came from her. You could see it in the way their smiles matched across the limousine.
“The stables are through there,” Astoria said, pointing. Hermione could make out another, smaller set of iron-banded oak doors around the curve of the manor to its right.
They were right, it wasn’t huge, in terms of floor space it probably wasn’t a whole lot larger than Potter manor, but it was way more intimidating. She craned her head back to look up at the walls as the limousine pulled to a halt in front of the main doors. It looked like most of the exterior was just the outer walls of the… manor, or castle, or whatever you wanted to call it, but that section by the stables was a wall enclosing some kind of open-roofed area. The single miniature tower sat over to the left.
The limousine door swung open of its own accord. Daphne gestured to it with a graceful, mocking gesture. “Home sweet home.”
“My life is so bizarre,” Hermione muttered, climbing out.
“Here’s your room.”
Hermione looked around nervously. “Are you sure… I don’t need all this space.”
“But you’ll enjoy it,” Daphne said with a smirk, pushing her between the shoulder blades to get her through the doorway. Hermione stumbled forward, and since she was levitating her own trunk now, this had the effect of sending it shooting forward as well. She barely caught it before it slammed into the bed.
“Oops.” Daphne followed her through.
Hermione carefully settled her trunk at the end of the bed. “Shouldn’t you save this room for more… I don’t know, socially prestigious guests?”
“More socially prestigious guests get a full suite of rooms,” Astoria said, bouncing into the room. She skipped past Hermione and Daphne like they weren’t there and threw herself out over the burgundy covers on the large four-poster bed.
“Oh,” Hermione said faintly. Put like that, one bedroom, even this large and well-furnished, wasn’t… horrible. It was half again the size of her room at home, with a large bookshelf on the wall opposite the windows, which would be nice since the expansion charms on her trunk were reaching their limit. The windows themselves had a gorgeous view to the north. There were several comfortable chairs clustered around a low table in one corner of the room and a writing desk waited next to one of the windows. Someone had even made sure the colors were light golden-brown wood with burgundy and white upholstery and accents, like a more tasteful version of the Gryffindor common room.
Daphne settled onto the edge of the bed with a lot more decorum than Astoria, shooting her sister a faintly irritated look. “Really, Hermione, it’s fine. We’ve several guest rooms, and Pansy and Theo have permanent rooms here. You could take up a lot more space than this and still not be an imposition.”
Hermione turned over her question in her head a few times to make sure it was appropriately Slytherin and subtle. “How often will you be having guests this summer?”
Okay, so maybe it could’ve been a little subtler, but she still thought she was getting better.
“We won’t,” Astoria said. “Not the sort you’re thinking.”
“Astoria!” Daphne snapped.
“What? I can be all Slytherin and sneaky when I have to,” Astoria said. “But we’re at home. I don’t have to here. And she’s a Gryffindor. Easier to just spit it out.”
Daphne rubbed her temples. The gesture was eerily reminiscent of Harry. “Tori, leave.”
Astoria slid off the bed and whistled a happy tune on her way out.
“This,” Daphne said. “This is why we all thought she’d be in Hufflepuff.”
“That explains a lot,” Hermione said. She knelt and opened her trunk and started rooting around for a few books to leave by her bedside, as was her custom. It helped that she didn’t have to see Daphne’s face as she added, “Is my being here going to cause… problems?”
“No.” There was a rustle, and then Daphne’s face appeared over the trunk’s open lid. “None.”
Hermione didn’t believe her, but she let it slide. “Good,” she said brightly, holding up two books. “Because I’m really looking forward to poking around your library.”
Daphne smiled—thin, maybe a little uncertain, but true. “I’ll show you, then. Come on.”
Hermione dumped her books on the bed and scrambled after her friend.
Ginny
So far, her summer was measured in spells.
First: the Body-Bind, on the third day of summer, aimed at Ron to keep him from following her out to the Quidditch pitch when he wouldn’t stop yelling about how she should be decent enough to not wear her Slytherin gloves at home. The idiot never carried his wand on him and Ginny was too angry to care how long he lay there in the back garden before someone came and rescued him. Hopefully a gnome would use his head as a toilet.
Second: Finestra, the glass-shattering charm, carefully applied a week in to Percy’s collection of empty glass inkwells after he fought with Mum and Dad again and stormed out of the house. Ginny would’ve hexed him bald and toothless with a really nasty spell Alex dredged up from his father’s books for talking about Harry like that but her parents were right there so she couldn’t.
Third: one day after the incident with the inkwells, Ginny and Mum got into a wall-shaking row about Ginny flying with Fred and George and Lee. Her wand ended up in her hand thanks to three years now of petty common room squabbles and Mum yelled at her and it set off sparks that lit the table on fire. Ginny doused them just as quickly but then she was in trouble for using magic during the summer.
Fourth: a hair-braiding spell Luna taught her when Ginny finally got permission to leave home. Mum foolishly thought going to dotty Luna Lovegood’s house meant Ginny wouldn’t get up to any trouble. Ginny had no plans to tell her that Xenophilius Lovegood’s books were many and ranged from patently useless to lethal and long illegal, or that Luna, being a Ravenclaw, cared not one whit for what people told her she should or should not be allowed to learn. Ginny had an ancient tome with a cracked leather binding spread across her knees studying broom jinxes when Luna crept up behind her and started whispering spells. Because it was Luna, Luna with sunshine hair and stars for eyes, Ginny didn’t go on the defensive, and then she looked in the mirror and saw her hair braided in intricate spirals all over her scalp. “It never comes out the same way twice,” Luna said, touching Ginny’s braids lightly. “I’m tracking the patterns and it’s much easier to look at them on someone else’s head… Sit still while I draw them?”
“Of course,” Ginny agreed, and she happily went back to reading with the scent of lilac in her nostrils and the rasp of Luna’s charcoal in her ears. It became a tradition, to trade interesting books and then Ginny would go through Quidditch magazines or write down spells to send to Evalyn and Nat and Alex and Finn in their spell swap bargain and Luna would draw whatever braided patterns showed up on Ginny’s head that day.
Fifth: Noctacies. Harry sent her a duplicated page from a book describing the spell when she complained about having to sneak out at night to fly and how she had goggles with night vision lenses but then she couldn’t feel the wind on her face. Ginny got really good at that one really quickly.
Sixth: her favorite, the Bat-Bogey Hex, also used on Ron. This time he’d gone off on a tear about Slytherins in general and Death Eaters’ children in particular. Jules and Ernie were over that day, but Ron wouldn’t listen when Jules tried to shut him down. After she hexed him, Ron’s friends turned on her angrily, but Fred and George popped up with unpleasant smiles on their faces and soot-blackened fingers.
Ginny, as a Slytherin, knew full well what it looked like when battle lines were drawn.
“Thanks,” she told her brothers, after the three of them had retreated.
“Don’t mention it,” George said.
“Seriously,” said Fred. “We have a reputation.”
“Also, little sister, when are you going to tell us how you’ve got the money for things like that wand holster?” Fred said, nodding at her arm where she’d tucked her wand away after nailing Ron.
“It could’ve been a gift,” she said.
George smirked. “But it wasn’t, or you’d have told us.”
“Not Ron,” Fred said.
“Because he’s a jealous prat,” George added.
“But us,” Fred finished.
Ginny grinned. It was almost as good as having other Slytherins in the house. “Someday.” She hadn’t told anyone outside her Slytherin year-mates about the basilisk-funded vault in her name at Gringotts, but the twins of all people could learn. Eventually. Assuming Harry hadn’t already told them. Ginny couldn’t follow more than a third of Harry’s calculations. She was pretty sure even his closest friends like Theo weren’t told everything that went on in his head.
Seventh: adfero caecus. Ginny stared at the page in the book Evalyn sent her (with no explanation) while her stomach twisted. It was a Dark curse. In fact, pretty much everything in here was a Dark curse. Ginny had seen and practiced her fair share of Dark spells over her years in the snake pit, mild ones that Pomfrey could heal and mostly just aimed at the wall for fun. She’d studied books as Dark and illegal as this one at Luna’s before. But somehow it felt different to own it. To hold it in her hands and know it was her copy, not Parkinson’s or Kinney’s or Alex’s, not borrowed from the Slytherin shelves or Luna’s library. It was a gift. It was hers.
It felt like crossing a line.
Ginny learned the incantation and the wand movement and moved on to the next spell in the book, and the next. There was a war coming, after all. She’d be an idiot not to be prepared. Slytherin had taught her to leash her temper but that didn’t mean it was gone and she knew herself to be a warrior and she knew there was no way she’d be sitting this one out.
(What side she was on, she wasn’t sure yet. Ginny knew what side her friends would be on… and she knew if someone tried to hurt Nat or Evalyn or Alex or Finn she’d shred them. But she would also shred anyone who hurt her family. Or Harry. Her people. That complicated things.)
Eighth: a basic broom jinx. Ron’s old Cleansweep dumped him into the duck pond three times before he took it to Dad. Everyone blamed Fred and George, who took the blame with a shrug and winked at Ginny when the rest of the family wasn’t looking.
Ninth: the midsummer ritual. Ginny went to Luna’s, where she’d been escaping to all summer, nearly every day (since Mum didn’t like Harry much at the moment what with all the rumors of him being a budding Dark wizard and made Ginny refuse all invitations to Grimmauld Place). Evalyn and Natalie had family things to do but Alex came, and Finn, and then Xenophilius led them all in the old rites.
Ginny frowned at the strip of paper with the Latin incantation on it. “What does it do?”
“It’s about life,” Luna said sweetly. “Light. Learning, truth, growth…”
“Also marking the beginning of the night’s return to power,” Finn said with a cocky wink.
Ginny kicked him and he danced away, laughing.
Finn with his freckles and the gap between his teeth, Finn the prankster of their Slytherin year, Finn the irreverent and goofy—Finn channeled ridiculous amounts of power that afternoon with the sun blazing high above their heads. Ginny watched him and Alex and Luna and Xenophilius chanting. They’d told her she didn’t have to participate unless she wanted too… but the air crackled with magic the way it did around Harry when he was pissed except a hundred times stronger (also less malevolent) and she wanted to join in.
So she did, reading the Latin aloud.
It stumbled in her throat and tripped on her lips but she found the rhythm soon enough and the paper fell away, forgotten. Ginny tipped her head back and kept softly chanting the words while the summer breeze danced in the grass around her ankles and magic flowed through her. It felt clean. It felt like a current.
The sun slipped out of alignment and the magic slid away and died, leaving Ginny feeling (for once) pure and good.
“It’s lovely, isn’t it?” Luna said.
“…yes,” Ginny said. She usually wasn’t one for words like lovely but that was really the only thing she could think of. Peaceful. Quiet. Powerful. Lovely.
“It’s your heritage,” Alex said softly, like he said everything.
Ginny considered this. It was true. Purebloods did this kind of thing.
No, wizards and witches did this kind of thing. She’d gotten a letter from Astoria saying they convinced Hermione to join the Greengrasses in their private midsummer ritual, seeing as she was fostering with them this summer. And she’d heard through the grapevine that Sirius was teaching Harry about the old Black rites this summer, too. If Hermione and Harry could do it, one Muggle-born and the other Muggle-raised, Ginny sure as hell could, too.
“Thank you,” she said with a grin.
“Anytime, m’lady,” Finn said, slinging an arm around her shoulders.
Ginny grabbed his forearm and twisted, tossing him over her shoulder and through the air. Alex lashed out with a Cushioning Charm and a laugh so Finn just settled lightly in the grass and then started rolling over and over and over, down the hill toward the Lovegoods’ odd, crooked house, and it looked so fun that Ginny dropped down and started rolling too. The world spun endlessly around her head and she was so dizzy at the bottom that she fell over when she tried to stand and collapsed in a hysterically laughing pile with Finn and Luna. Alex, the sensible one, walked down, and casually tripped them each in turn while they tried to get their balance back.
Tenth: mulco. A Dark spell and a painful one, that essentially landed a blow on a person when they were hit with it. Ginny was eating dinner with her family and enduring Ron’s awful friends—Seamus, Ernie, Susan, and Sophie that evening—when a disheveled and gasping Jules appeared in the fire.
He told them Ethan Thorne used a legal technicality to disinherit Harry. Harry’s trust vault was no longer his; he had no access to the Potter manor or elves or inheritance or anything. Jules was wide-eyed with shock and confusion. Ron, though—Ron gloated.
It was Sophie Roper who took the curse. Sophie the horrible sanctimonious Hufflepuff who tossed her hair and said snippily, “He deserves it, who’d want a Dark wizard like that as their Heir I don’t know… he finally showed his true colors, killing Macnair with that spell…”
Jules spun on her, half-panicked. “No—Sophie, he—he’s disinherited. He did it to—to save us—he—and now—he’s a noble Heir and Dad just…” Jules sank onto a bench. “He’s my brother.”
“Jules,” Sophie said, sympathetic, condescending. “That’s it exactly. No Potter should know spells like that—it’s the Slytherins who’ve led him—”
“Mulco,” Ginny hissed, wand snapping out.
Her parents’ horrified cries were drowned out by Sophie’s shrieks. Ginny rolled her eyes. She’d taken mulco loads of times in dueling club. It hurt like a bitch but a few episkys and you were fine.
“Ginny,” Fred said, and she’d never heard him sound so—so urgent. So serious. “Go.”
“Floo,” George added, unnecessarily.
Ginny was in the fireplace with a handful of Floo powder before anyone knew what was happening. “Ginny!” Mum shrieked.
Ginny threw the powder down. “The Rookery!” she shouted, and green flames sucked her into the Lovegoods’ kitchen.
“I need to not… see them,” she choked out, when she stumbled out into their kitchen.
Xenophilius was genuinely batty whereas his daughter was both batty and brilliant, but he had bad (or good) judgment and he returned her immediately to her parents. Ginny was grounded for the rest of the summer with no wand for that one.
She did her chores with a mutinous scowl and stopped talking to anyone other than Fred and George and used reams of parchment swapping letters with friends she was no longer allowed to see and flew every night with her stupid night vision Quidditch goggles and basically became the twins’ research assistant in her spare time.
It was going to be a long summer.