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And They Didn\'t Live Happily Ever After	By : ElizabethStump Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 90306 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 57
- 58
- 59
“And They Didn't Live Happily Ever After”
Chapter Fifty-Seven “The Drabarni”

Disclaimer: Oh, for heaven's sake! How many times must I repeat myself that Rowling and various other corporate entities own Harry Potter, and not me! And for the umpteenth time, I'm not making any money off of this.

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Hermione had mixed emotions when she woke to an empty bed on her twenty-fourth birthday. It was a relief that Ron was not there, but the fact he was still gone cast a pall on her outlook for the day.

As she made her way to the kitchen for a quick morning cup before swinging by the Twenty-Four Blackbird bakery for her habitual scone on the way into work, Pigwidgeon alighted on his perch with a missive for Hermione.

-------

Hermione,

I will be there with you tonight for your birthday at your parents' house. I don't want to put you on the spot as to why I'm not there.

I'll see you at the flat when you get home from work.

Ron

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As grateful as she was that Ron would be there to provide a united front, despite how false it was, she was even more glad that she would not have to lie to her parents as to why her husband wasn't there.

The echo of her boots along the cobblestone seemed to mock the isolation Hermione felt within her own world. Even the bakery was empty, except for the sole baker who manned the counter in between shuffling pans of freshly baked goods in and out of the oven until the counter staff arrived later. The fog that had drifted over Diagon Alley veiled Hermione as she continued on her way to work. Behind her, she heard the cadence of a familiar pair of boots – accented with the syncopation of another pair of boots – approaching the bakery she had just left. She knew without looking it was Severus and Draco on the way to their Friday morning parole meeting.

As tempted as she was to turn around, she forged on, not wanting to risk anyone seeing her giving any recognition to the ex-Death Eaters.

It was her birthday, and as a present to herself she hoped for the simple pleasure of a box of boomslang to be waiting for her upon her arrival.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Severus saw the faint silhouette of Hermione march off into the fog.

“Linger any longer, and I'll think you're a man in love,” Draco ribbed Severus half-jokingly.

The older wizard hesitated at the bakery's threshold, gazing onward.

He wanted to argue, asking Draco what he would know of love, but the younger wizard knew far more about the subject than Severus' own limited experience.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hermione's birthday was proving to be far better than she expected. Upon entering the lab, she saw several boxes of boomslang from three different suppliers. The boxes’ markings showed that some of the shipment took a wrong turn during their transit, explaining why none arrived last Friday for testing.

Trevor showed up at an early time, but it was after Hermione was able to fake a botched test and secret some boomslang skin away in the inner pocket of her robes. He’d brought Hermione a small bouquet of dwarf sunflowers, signaling his admiration for his mentor on her birthday.

Harry showed up to take Hermione out for lunch as a birthday treat. He even presented her with a small gift of some Self-Inking Quills made with pheasant feathers for which she thanked him, pheasant feathers being her preferred choice for quills.

Since it was her special day, she didn't stick around at work, but left at five o'clock. She even encouraged Trevor to go home instead of staying late, though she did have a slight unshakable fear he might burn down the lab yet again if left alone.

As promised, Ron was waiting for her when she came home. Hermione was convinced Ron gained another whole stone of pure muscle since she saw him three days ago. It also could have been the cut of the shirt that gave that impression, since it was tailored to his body, accentuating the strapping physique his body had morphed into recently.

“Let me take a quick shower and change before we head over,” Hermione said, trying to avoid interacting with her husband.

Ron sheepishly shrugged, not knowing what to say.

Emerging from the bathroom, Hermione wore one of her more Muggle-like outfits of a basic blouse and plain black skirt. It was understated and appropriate for a simple family gathering.

“You look nice,” Ron admitted. He was avoiding looking Hermione in the eye.

“If you don't want to go, Ron, I can always say your coach decided last minute to get the team to Russia to acclimatize to the local time zone and climate before the game,” Hermione offered.

“No, I said I'd be here for you, so I'm here.”

Hermione thought that Ron behaving in such a way as to point out the rift between them might prove to be even more awkward, but Hermione figured since he was here there was nothing to do but go ahead and brace for the questions from her parents later.

As they arrived via the Floo, Hermione was greeted by her mother with a welcoming hug and buss upon the cheek.

Ron followed in right behind her with, to Hermione's shock, a believable smile upon his face as he greeted his in-laws. He did a fine job of acting the happy husband to their daughter. It seemed like the Ron she remembered from a time long ago when they were still dating and first married, but she knew his behavior tonight was an act for her benefit. Mrs. Weasley wondered how much of their entire marriage was an act for her benefit to spare her from the truth she now knew.

Aunt Christine and her husband, Tim, showed up about a half hour later. Wendy Granger made sure her sister would show up after Hermione's arrival so she would not have to explain to Christine that she had a magical daughter and son-in-law emerging from a blazing fireplace. As much as the International Code of Wizarding Secrecy (ICWS) allowed Mrs. Granger to tell her sister about Hermione's talents, being a close blood relation, she decided that it was best not to inform her sister of her daughter's unique abilities.

Ron had only met Hermione's Aunt Christine and Uncle Tim once before, and fortunately remembered their names. Hermione had few relatives, so there were not many names to memorize anyway.

As Wallace was pouring drinks before dinner, Wendy Granger took Hermione aside to speak privately.

“I was wondering if you or Ron could do your father and me a favor. It seems the Jaguar is having some sort of difficulty. We've taken it to the shop three times this week as it won't start, but every time we bring it in, they can't seem to find anything wrong with it. We drive it home and then it won't start the next day. I was wondering if you had an idea of what might be wrong with it if it isn't a 'conventional' issue,” Wendy implied, hinting that the problem might be not of the Muggle mechanical kind.

“Erm, sure, Mum. Do you want me to look at it now,” Hermione said, then darted her eyes in the direction of her aunt and uncle, “or we can do it later?” meaning after they have left.

“Later is fine, sweetie. Thanks. Sorry for foisting this on you on your birthday,” her mother apologized.

“It's not a problem,” Hermione said, actually grateful that this would be something to occupy her, keeping some distance between her and Ron, since her husband knew nothing of cars other than what he learned second-hand through his father, plus that Hogwarts event with the Ford Anglia.

“Mum?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Since you're making my favorite prawn dish, I was wondering if you could teach me how to make it?”

“Absolutely! I'd love it if you helped me in the kitchen. How are your knife skills?” Wendy teased Hermione, knowing her daughter spent most of her workday testing ingredients all day long.

After sharpening her mother's knives to her level of satisfaction, Hermione began deveining the jumbo prawns with the precision of a surgeon.

Regarding her daughter's knife work, “You would have made an excellent doctor with those knife skills.”

Knowing her aunt and uncle were on the other side of the house, Hermione replied, “Actually, I'll be starting a Potions apprenticeship hopefully before the end of the year. And according to one Potions master, my knife skills have much room for improvement.”

“Really? That's excellent news!” Then Wendy corrected herself as she coarsely chopped the cilantro. “I mean about the position, not the commentary on your handling of a knife.”

“It's been judged fair, but by the time I'm done with my apprenticeship, they are supposed to be much better than this,” Hermione admitted.

“And how long will this apprenticeship last?”

“Depends on how fast I master certain skills, including five foreign languages.”

“Five? Really? That many?” Wendy asked with wonderment.

“Anti-translation spells on certain books,” she informed her mother.

“Ah, trade secrets,” Mrs. Granger correctly surmised.

“Yep.”

“What about trade secrets?” Aunt Christine chimed in, entering the kitchen with a drink in her hand.

“Just dental things, Christine,” Wendy deflected, knowing her sister was not interested in such topics.

“Are you here to help chop the garlic?” asked Hermione knowing her aunt would never deign to ruin a fresh manicure with something as messy as cooking.

“I think I'll leaving the cooking to you two. I'll just freshen up my drink,” she said, scrunching her nose with disgust at the scent, before fleeing to avoid being conscripted into doing something else.

Hermione fetched the butter and olive oil while her mother pulled out her large skillet.

“Where is the Amontillado?” asked Hermione while looking for the sherry.

“Amontillado? Impossible! And in the middle of the carnival!” barked Tim with over-the-top theatrics in the doorway to the kitchen.

Hermione and her mother laughed with Tim's reference to the Edgar Allen Poe story.

“Hello, Uncle Tim!” Hermione went over and gave her uncle a hug while keeping her garlic tainted hands off of his person, before going back to chop the pungent bulb on the cutting board.

“Garlic, and lots of it. I know I'm going to love this dish,” he professed.

Hermione felt little affinity for her maternal aunt, at times wondering how her mother and Christine could be related, but then remembering the great difference in age. Hermione's mother was already in her early-mid fifties, while Christine was still in her late thirties. Despite the lack of connection to her own blood relative, Hermione was quite fond of her uncle, even though she rarely saw him.

“So you're what now? Twenty... Help me out here,” Tim begged.

“Twenty-four,” Hermione helped.

“And not looking a day over twenty-four,” he jibed. “Uh oh, I think I'm needed,” he excused himself before bolting off hearing his wife call for him.

Hermione wanted to say something about Christine probably breaking a nail, but decided keeping her mouth shut with a snide comment would be more sensible, considering how her aunt had snuck up on her and her mother a few moments ago.

During dinner, Christine was looking a bit peaked. She picked at her dinner, refusing the aromatic shrimp seasoned with garlic and cilantro, choosing only to nibble on unbuttered bread.

Wallace raised his glass as he cleared his throat. “I'd like to toast to my beautiful and loving daughter on her twenty-fourth birthday. Hermione, may your days be filed with joy and your sorrows be fleeting. To Hermione!”

Everyone around the table clinked glasses, even Aunt Christine who was starting to look a little green around the gills.

“And I don't meant to steal any of the glory on your day, Hermione, but I'd like to make an announcement. Christine and I are expecting our first child–” Tim began, but stopped as Christine ran off for the loo for another bout of morning sickness that was hitting her during the evening. “Sorry, back soon,” he said as he joined her.

The door muffled most of the sounds of retching, but not all.

“I guess the garlic explains why dinner wasn't agreeing with her.” Hermione looked back at the door and said, “Do you think they'd notice if I spelled the smell away?” She looked over at Christine's place at the table and finally noticed that her aunt was drinking iced water, not her usual white wine.

Wendy nodded, liking the idea, but knowing it would tip her sister and brother-in-law off that something was a bit odd.

“Hang on. Have you got lemon and ginger in the kitchen, Mum?”

“Yes, what are you thinking?” Wendy replied.

“A simple cure, Muggle ingredients only,” Hermione said.

Running off, she brewed a quick cup of ginger and lemon tea for her aunt, and placed a quick cooling spell on it to chill it down.

Hermione tentatively knocked on the door. “Aunt Christine?”

Tim answered the door. “We're sorry for ruining your party, love.”

“No, don't worry. Ron has several sisters-in-law, and this happens all the time when one of them is pregnant. Here is some cold ginger and lemon tea. This always helps them. Hopefully it will help her.”

Christine was barely able to choke out her thanks before the retching started up again.

“When she's done, have her sip some and it will calm her stomach immediately,” Hermione assured him despite Christine’s reluctance to attempt to drink anything.

Once a few sips went down, Christine looked relieved. “Oh, that's much better.”

“Had I known, I would have picked a different entree.” Hermione gave her uncle an apologetic look.

“Well, we wanted to surprise everyone and I guess we did,” Tim confessed sheepishly.

“Congratulations,” Hermione said meekly.

Tim and Christine cut their visit short. Hermione gave her uncle the recipe for ginger and lemon tea, informing him that it should be chilled as it would sit better with his wife's stomach versus being served hot. Ron provided a strong shoulder of support, helping Christine out to the car while Tim brought the car to the front of the house.

Once back in the house, they sat down and realized dinner had gone cold. Now that Christine and Tim were gone, Hermione whipped out her wand and performed a simple warming charm on the food so they could continue their dinner.

Before cake, while dinner settled, Hermione went to the garage with her mother to see if there was a magical cause behind the Jaguar's malfunctioning.

Wendy popped the bonnet and lifted it, propping it up with a support arm.

“Lumos.” Hermione began probing around the engine with the illuminated tip of her wand, peering about.

She saw something moving around behind the air filter before it skittered along the back and ducked underneath the cylinders to hide.

“Did you see that?” Hermione asked her mother.

“See what?”

Her mother's response confirmed her suspicion that gremlins were invisible to Muggles.

“Did you hear it skittering?”

“Hear what?”

“You've got gremlins, Mum.”

Even Muggles had heard of gremlins, and the mechanic even joked it was gremlins before handing Wendy Granger the bill for probing around her car with no results.

“Gremlins are attracted to grease, and lemons cut grease. Lemon makes an excellent repellent. Go squeeze the rest of the lemons, then mix the juice with water and put it in a spray bottle. Spray down the garage with the lemon water,” she instructed her mother. “Hang a lemon-scented car freshener in the car, and they'll be gone in less than a day. You better get out of the garage while I try and clean out the ones in the car.”

Hermione cast a spell that caused the scent of lemons to perfume the engine compartment area, flushing out three gremlins who tried to find refuge in her father's lawn mower.

“Confringo!”

The gremlin exploded into tiny bits, leaving some small hunks of meat clinging to the side of the car before sliding off onto the floor of the garage. She found the other two in the midst of trying to crawl into her father's hedge trimmer. Since the ventilation slots were too small for them to crawl through easily, she found them stuck half-way in, attracted to the grease fumes.

Hermione used her wand to clean up the area in case her mother could see dead bits of magical creatures, even though she couldn't see them while alive.

Exiting the garage, she found her mother coming back with a spray bottle with lemon water.

“I wonder if the gremlins came in with the Gypsies,” Wendy wondered aloud.

“What Gypsies?”

“You know that empty field around the corner with the big oak tree? Some Gypsies camped there earlier this week, saying some of their vehicles broke down. Since then some of the neighbors have complained about their cars not working either.” Wendy began spraying down the garage.

“They don't like to be called Gypsies, Mum. They prefer the term 'Roma.'” Hermione had that same gentle lecturing tone in her voice as when she was trying to correct Ron's latest misconception about Muggles.

Hermione asked for pen and paper in order to write up a short letter to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, notifying them that there was an infestation of gremlins in her parents’ neighborhood. She included a list of nearby streets to check, based on her mother's retelling of neighborhood gossip of whose car was working and wasn't. The Ministry would probably send a crew during the day – while the Muggles were at work – to clear out their garages and cars, and visit some of the local mechanics in case some of the infected cars had been towed there.

After fetching Maxwell from the owl box at the back of the yard, her parents’ owl silently took to wing in the dark of the night.

In the meantime, Hermione would visit the Roma camped out around the corner and deal with the possible source of infestation.

The Roma of Europe, particularly Great Britain, not only tended to operate around the fringes of Muggle society, but the fringes of the wizarding world as well. There was a blending of some of the wizarding world into the culture of the Roma in centuries prior, but with the ICWS and the gradual industrialization of England, the Roma tended to drift further away from the wizarding community, since most in the Roma community were squibs or Muggles.

During the summer before Hermione created S.P.E.W., she did a a lot of research on disenfranchised members of wizarding society, including the house-elves, Roma, centaurs, and werewolves. While she was no expert, she knew and was aware of the wariness the Roma community had of the wizarding community. There had been a period of time where the Ministry forcibly removed the magical children of the Roma with the purpose of integrating the magical children into the wizarding world. The Ministry had encouraged these children to abandon their Roma families and roots, so they could fully function as adults in the magical world.

Hermione told her mother to tell Ron that she was taking a walk around the old neighborhood, giving her mother a brief explanation as to why Ron would protest vehemently against his wife visiting “a bunch of dirty Gypsies,” as Ron had described them in the past. She knew her husband would not approve; he would most probably say something incredibly insulting and offensive in the process, should he demand to accompany her in some useless exercise to protect her. Hermione was a witch fully capable of defending herself should the need arise.

As she rounded the corner and saw the open field at the end of the street, Hermione could hear the rising sound of a guitar gently strumming. Windows were lit from the interior of the caravans, and there was a communal fire crackling in the center of the circle of vehicles. It was a mish-mash of modern aluminum-sided caravans with some of the old-fashioned wooden caravan trailers painted in bright colors with square or rounded profiles, all pulled by modern automobiles of various vintages. Some of the caravans looked very old and well cared for.

Walking slowly, but with no purpose of stalking, Hermione stopped when someone spotted her. She was approached by a man who appeared to be his forties, with a slightly weathered face

“Can I help you?” the wary man asked, used to some pesky town council members coming up to him to tell him that his family group had no business camping in an unused field.

“I understand that you're having some trouble with your cars,” she stated.

“Are you a mechanic?” he asked, looking her up and down and at her hands for any sign that she was a grease monkey by profession.

“No, but I just rid my mother's car of three gremlins and I think your cars might be infested with them too, which is why they might not be working,” she explained plainly.

“Bun!” the man hissed, and placed his hands in the shape of a bull, extending the index and pinkie, his hand placed at his forehead and bowed in a gesture to ward off evil.

Hermione knew the word he’d exclaimed meant “evil witch.”

“I'm here to help expel the gremlins and then leave you alone,” she said. “The Ministry of Magic will probably be sending people tomorrow to exterminate the gremlins from the Muggle households around here. I know you have no love for the Ministry, but I can get rid of the gremlins for you so they won't bother you.” She held her hands up as a sign she meant no harm.

The strumming of guitar had stopped, and a small crowd of people of various ages had gathered at the edges of the shadows to watch the scene unfold.

Before the older man could say anything further, a wizened elderly woman shuffled forward. “Let me see her.”

The man nodded his head in the direction of the woman who appeared to be the head of the clan. She directed Hermione to move forward while still gazing cautiously at her.

Hermione walked slowly, not wanting to appear to be a threat to the group.

“Let me see your hands,” the Drabarni commanded Hermione.

Hermione held her hands out for inspection.

The elderly woman, with a face tanned like well worn leather, grabbed both of Hermione’s hands and shook them in hers, before flipping them over to inspect the palms and then the back of the hands.

“Stick out your tongue.” The elderly matron of the group was dressed in several layers of tiered floral skirts and a cropped wool jacket, looking every bit the old Gypsy woman.

Hermione did as she was bid.

The old woman gently cupped Hermione's face with both hands and peered into her mouth.

“Your parents are the dentists around the corner.”

“You can tell that by looking at my mouth?” Hermione asked, perplexed she could divine that much from glancing in her mouth.

“No, I saw you coming out of their house,” the old woman answered with a mirthful chuckle. Then she addressed the crowd. “She's a good witch. Let her look at your cars.” She spoke with authority that brooked no argument.

Hermione went around to the dozen or so cars, chasing out the gremlins with the scent of lemon before casting the same Blasting Curse she used at her mother's house.

The children of the group, who screamed with a mix of fear and delight as the gremlins ran from the cars, proceeded to stomp gleefully on the mangled remnants of flesh that remained behind. Once Hermione's work was done, the children used a shovel to pick up the gremlins’ remains and throw them into a hastily dug pit to burn. She was surprised at the percentage of children who could see the magical creatures.

After being satisfied that all the gremlins hiding in cars were killed, Hermione made one last round to make sure there was no more random machinery that a gremlin might have hidden in. Hermione informed the people at the camp that the scent of lemons would help deter future infestations of gremlins.

Hermione was about to bid farewell when the Drabarni called out to her.

“Come here,” the older woman said.

Unsure what else the clan leader might want, Hermione went over. She was hoping not to stay too much longer as her husband might get worried and try and find her, and stumble upon his wife surrounded by a bunch of partially magical strangers.

“Sit,” the Drabarni said, pointing Hermione to a chair facing the one the old woman herself was sitting in.

Hermione obliged and sat down across from her.

“We don't have any money to pay you.”

“It's no bother, please. I'm just trying to be helpful,” Hermione began, but was cut off.

“We cannot let you go while we feel indebted to you. No one wants to have you leave and live with an unpaid debt to a witch.”

Hermione was starting to feel a little nervous wondering is she could Apparate if anything funny happened.

“Let me read your palm as payment,” the Drabarni said.

Hermione silently let out a sigh of relief. Of all the magical arts, Hermione felt Divination, including palmistry, was one of the most inexact and unreliable forms of magic. But if this woman wanted to do a bit of palmistry to put her and the rest of the clan's mind at ease, then she was willing to put up with a bit of silliness.

The woman examined Hermione's left hand at first, turning it over before flipping it back. The palmist played with the skin on each knuckle a little, peered between fingers, and examined the length of each digit and nail.

“You were in a war,” the old woman began.

Hermione wondered how much this old woman knew of the wizarding world, since Hermione was well known enough, being Harry Potter's best friend.

“A lot of people were in the war,” Hermione countered.

“Yes, but you were there with the Chosen One. You're his close friend.”

A lot of people knew Hermione was friends with Harry. It meant nothing.

“You're in an unhappy marriage,” she continued.

A lot of people were unhappy in their marriage. This was merely a fishing tactic used by some charlatans, Hermione told herself.

“You work with your hands.” Before Hermione could say anything, the woman added, “You have some impressive callouses,” as if sensing the dismissive attitude Hermione was trying to mask in order to avoid being rude to these people.

Hermione remained silent.

“You're not happy in your work and you wish there was more accomplishment in your life. A sadness. Many friends lost during the war.”

Another generalization Hermione dismissed, but it hit close to home.

The old woman inspected Hermione’s heart-line on her left hand and gave Hermione a knowing sly smirk, before setting her left hand down to begin her work on Hermione's right hand.

“The left tells the past on a woman, and the right the future,” the old woman explained.

Hermione knew this, but let the woman ramble on.

“Ah, I see a major career change ahead. But this depends on...” The woman paused and flipped Hermione’s hand over, back and forth a few times, before continuing. “... it is still unclear. I can't see this part of your future.”

Hermione wondered how much longer this would continue.

“Your marriage will not last the rest of the year.”

Hermione's heart began to hammer in her chest. There was no way this old Romani woman would know anything about her problems with Ron, but it was probably another stab in the dark that hit true to the mark. Even a broken clock could be right twice a day.

“Your lover...” She gave Hermione that same sly smirk again. “He has a very dark and troubled past, but he has a good heart. A great bond between you two, very deep. He is...” The old woman trailed off and made a fist with her hand as if to imply Severus' sexual prowess and virility. The others listening in snickered quietly, understanding what her gestures implied sexually.

Hermione was ready to yank her hand out of the old woman's grip when the palmist tightened her grip after sensing the witch's desire to flee.

Gazing deeply into Hermione’s eyes, the Drabarni announced flatly, “Within the next six months, a blood relation will die and another will be in the hospital. If you have the opportunity to leave with your lover, do so. But if you do not leave with him, you will see him again in the future.” She finally let go of Hermione's hand to sit back in her chair, appraising the young woman as if there was nothing left to hide.

Hermione sat there, her mouth agape. She had read about the rare Roma palmist who had “the gift.” They never accepted money, as they felt coin would taint their gift. People who came to them begging for their fortune to be told would be rejected. It was only when it was a reading freely given that these Roma palmists would give true readings of any value. It was the debt the Drabarni had wanted to relieve herself of that caused her to read Hermione's palm in payment for the witch's help.

“Thank you,” Hermione croaked out, finally finding her voice.

“Don't thank me,” she replied, without sorrow. “Some people find knowing the future to be a curse they cannot escape. They change their course of action in order to run away from it, only to find themselves on the path they were trying to flee from in the end.”

With nothing to add to the old woman's words of wisdom, Hermione bowed her head slightly in respect and quietly left the camp deep in thought.

When she got back to her parents’ house, Ron greeted her.

“I was about to go out looking for you. Have a good walk?”

“Yeah,” his wife said distractedly. “Lots of memories,” she said to mask the nervousness that she couldn't shake.

“I think your mum is ready to serve cake.”

Hermione followed Ron inside and sat in her chair as her mother brought out a chocolate cake she had bought at Marks & Spencer. It was delicious, but Hermione could not taste it, still unnerved by the night's events.

As the evening came towards a close, Wendy took her daughter aside.

“I didn't want to say anything and I didn't want you to worry,” Hermione's mother began, “but next week I'm going in the hospital for a day.”

“What?” Hermione shrieked, suddenly feeling panic rising in her chest.

“It's nothing, just removal of a couple fibroids from my uterus. It's nothing to worry about.” Mrs. Granger seemed to be perfectly fine about her upcoming operation, but the news of this sent Hermione into a tizzy.

“You're going into the hospital?” Hermione was trying not to hyperventilate.

“It's perfectly fine. The receptionist at our office had the same surgery done a few years ago and she's fine. It is a very simple procedure.” Wendy tried her best to calm her distraught daughter.

Despite her mother's assurances, Hermione began recalling the palmist's reading, remembering the prediction that a blood relative would be in the hospital and another dead within six months. Hermione had very few blood relatives, which meant a high probability of her mother or father possibly being the one who might die.

Hermione wanted to tell her mother about the reading of her palm from her trip to the Romani camp, but then decided she would not say anything after remembering the words of warning from the old woman. Despite how she might try to avoid her fate, she might be choosing to run towards her destiny regardless of her actions.

============

A/N: At this point, I'd like to put out a call for an alternative for my second beta. One of my betas can get quite busy, and my buffer of edited chapters is now gone. I'd like an alternative beta in which to add as either a part time or full time beta (to edit when my second beta can't, or to be included as a third beta), depending on how much you can commit to editing my chapters. Hey, we all have a life. I'm looking for an experienced beta who has done beta work before, mostly for spelling, grammar and punctuation. Private message me if you are interested.
And of course, thanks to my current betas, JuneW and Kealdry Lupin/Rogue_Panda.
In no way am I implying the Roma brought the gremlins into Hermione's neighborhood. They caught a case of them from someone else in the neighborhood when they stopped to camp the night in the field, which is why they suddenly had trouble with their vehicles. Hermione's mother assumed wrongly, it was one of her neighbors who was the source of the infestation, as noted in a follow up memo by the Ministry as to finding the original nest of them three doors down from her parent's home.
“There are four basic types of magicians in Romani tradition; a Chovani (f) / Chovano (m), basically a Sorceress and sorcery, who works with the elements and their energies; a Drabengro or Patrinengri, a kind of Hedge Witch, or 'Good Witch', who works with herbs and potions mainly; a Drabarni, Wise or Cunning Woman, who tells fortunes, heals and answers questions; and finally the Borsorka, or 'Evil Witch', who harms people. The names of these varies in the many Romani dialects, for example amongst the Romnichal of England an 'evil' witch is called a Bun, and a Sorceress a Choviar, but these are the names most used in the academic literature and derive from the dominant Balkan tradition (principally of the Kalderas). In addition to these specialists any Romani can learn and use magic, the elders in particular were once said to use it to punish miscreants or protect the community. The popular use of magic amongst ordinary Romanis however is usually a sham, particularly when used to frighten or con the Gadjos.”
http://www.kiamagic.com/wiki/index.php/PART_TWO_:_ROMANI_MYTHOS,_SORCERY_AND_WITCHCRAFT
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And They Didn\'t Live Happily Ever After