With Good Intentions | By : T-W-O Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Lucius/Hermione Views: 12260 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0 |
Disclaimer: I own nothing of HP nor do I profit in any way from these missives. I almost own the house I'm writing this fanfic in, tho'. |
In Slovakia, visiting between uni sessions under a brutal academic load, Hermione found herself warmly welcomed by three old acquaintances and one new. The “war against evil” had officially ended nearly three years ago.
“You’ve experienced it here?”
“Some. Gringott’s transferred their Roma accounts to me. Bloody goblins were robbing them blind before I came. Their magic’s primordial like the house elves and no one let’s them forget it. Or leaves them — or me — alone. To be safe, the house is unplottable and there’re blood wards tied to me and Fleur.”
“So your family?…”
“Can’t get in — except George.”
The child sitting in the highchair, not more than one year old, tore into the barely grilled meat with abandon and a toothy grin.
“Do you turn?”
“Nope, thanks to the Roma compounds. Can be damned hard to deal with, though. Got both girls on Fleur during a wolf night.”
“And the girls?”
“So far no effects. They do love their meat, though.”
Victoire climbed into her Aunt “Er-my-nee’s” lap for some extra attention. Hermione snuggled the charming little part-Veela, part-were-something in her arms.
“What do you think of my proposal?”
“Hermione… are you sure you want to bring this down on yourself?”
“You fought for the ‘Light’ but you can’t come home. If you do, you’ll have to ‘register’ under the new regulations — you and the girls. None of you would ever be safe — not even from your family.”
“Mum and Dad —”
“— want nothing to do with any ‘imperfect’ magical being. They're behind the new law. You’re part werewolf now, Bill.”
Mild lycanthropy was still lycanthropy.
“Can you ask the other refugees to consider speaking with me? Those who were converted like you and Remus deserve to be safe. You fought for the so-called ‘Light’ in the war. You’ve suffered enough; you should be able to come home.”
“I’ll be in touch.”
Hermione kissed the girls and walked to their unlisted floo, passing the desk with the most recent billboard notice announcing mandatory regulations for diagnosed lycanthropes in Britain.
Four months later found her at a cafe in muggle England where tourists visiting Stonehenge overpaid for items resembling food. The place had good tea, though.
“You always were the smartest.”
“Not when it came to inventing charms and magical devices.”
Both chuckled at the mutual admiration behaviour. They kept apart for reasons of safety.
“You were right. The bulk of my potion subscription and magical device clients are squibs and non-human beings. Trying to fit in, poor bastards.”
“Voldemort’s gone; they shouldn’t have to.”
“That’s what Filch said. Couldn’t manage a reasonable disguise, crotchety old sod. Saw Ron in the shop and took off.”
Ron still mattered in her life.
“How is Ron?”
“Adjusting. Been retired from the Aurors — involuntary, it was. His magic’s off since he got hurt and Mum’s at him all the time to 'get on' with it. Like he’d shake off a dark curse in a day. Woman hasn't got a bit of sympathy left in ’er since Fred died. It’s like something snapped.”
“You prepared to talk to them, the ones like Filch and Ron?”
“Already do, Little Sis’.”
Both swigged down more of the lukewarm tea in their cups.
“Malfoy came by last week.”
“Glad he feels comfortable getting out.”
“Bought some contraceptive potions. Anything you want to tell me, Sis?”
“I assure you —”
George rose to leave, yanking her from her seat into a hug.
“Why change the world if not for our kids, huh? Be in touch when I have some news. Be careful, ‘Mione.”
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