Storytime with Rachel F Hundred

Part 1

“This is utterly ridiculous!”

Her mother rolled her eyes at Hermione’s pronouncement and plucked the parchment from her hand.

Hermione sprang from her chair to pace. 

“You have to get married to claim the Pendragon legacy,” her mother said.

Her father’s eyebrows rose and he snatched the parchment to read it himself.

“Only because I’m a woman!” Hermione raged, continuing to pace at the back of the Gringotts’ office.  “If I was a man, they’d just give it to me.”

The goblin behind the desk coughed.  “To be exact, Lady Hermione, we would have asked a male heir to remove the sword from its stone as proof that they could carry the legacy.”

“Why can’t I do that, Pikstaff?” Hermione asked, coming to a stop and whirling around to point at the goblin.  “I can pull a sword from a stone!” She blew a strand of caramel hair that had escaped her French braid out of her eyes.

“Because the inheritance rules of the Pendragon legacy are absolutely iron-clad,” Pikstaff replied brusquely, “and were laid down by our King himself.  You were informed of this when you entered the magical world, Lady Hermione.”

Hermione sits down with a huff.  “I just didn’t think they’d be so old-fashioned as to require me to be married once I reached my magical maturity!”

She had been looking forward to her maturity, assuming that it was the only hurdle to her claiming the Pendragon legacy.  She’d been thrilled just before Christmas when her magic had suddenly shifted in the middle of a house-cleaning spell (not least because the over-powered spell had deep cleaned her whole flat), but also because many magicals had to wait into their thirties before they fully matured and she had turned twenty-five that September.  In hindsight, she’d had warning signs for weeks.

“You didn’t read on,” her father said cheerfully, “this basically says your man is the one who ends up being tested to see if he’s worthy with the whole sword thing.”

Hermione clapped her hands over her face momentarily.  She collected herself and took a breath.  There had to be some way around the rules.  She was the brightest witch of her generation, surely she could find a loophole!    

“What if I just try the sword thing?” She asked out loud.  “I mean, if I draw it then it proves I’m worthy right?”

“Your ascension would be seen as illegal and unenforceable,” Pikstaff said dryly, “but if you wish to go that route, we could do that.”  He clasped his gnarled hands together on top of his desk, his rheumy black eyes twinkling at her.  “The rules were spell-bound to the Wizengamot by Merlin himself.  There is no getting around it, Lady Hermione.” 

He was small and wizened, old for an Account Manager, but he had been in charge of the Pendragon vaults for decades.  He’d taken Hermione and her family under his bony hand from the moment the Grangers had entered Gringotts and Hermione adored him.

Hermione held her hand out to her father who handed over the parchment with mock ceremony.  She re-read the rules and sighed. 

“May I ask some questions, Pikstaff?” Her father said beside her.

“Of course, Waylon,” Pikstaff said courteously.

“The rules are clear that if the descendant is magical and female then they must be married within a year of reaching their magical maturity and their spouse must be tested,” her father paused and waved his hand, “with the whole sword thing.  Only then will Hermione inherit the Pendragon legacy is that correct?”

“That is correct,” Pikstaff said carefully.

“So how married is married under these rules?” asked her father.  “Say we snatch up a willing wizard and take them to the registry office and there is a legal piece of paper only stating that they are married, will that suffice?”

“No,” Pikstaff said, “the magic will assess the validity of their bond.  They must be magically married.”

“I think what my husband is trying to ask without asking is, does Hermione and her husband need to consummate the marriage?” asked her mother.

Pikstaff’s cheeks flushed green.  “Ah, well, my dear Margaret…”

“The answer is no,” Hermione said bluntly.  “Magical marriage bonds are assessed for validity with the strength of the bond itself.  When the marriage partners take their vows of commitment, their intent to honour their vows feeds the bond.  It’s fascinating really and goes back to…”

“Thank you, Hermione,” her mother cut in.  “Do you have to remain married under the rules?”

Pikstaff hummed as Hermione scoured the parchment. 

“There is no provision for divorce, but there is provision for the legacy to remain valid and be inherited by the children of the marriage should my spouse die,” Hermione said.  “If I remarried as a widow, the spouse would have to undergo the sword thing again for any children of theirs to be considered heirs to the legacy.”  

Her father’s warm brown eyes, shining with amusement, met Hermione’s.  “So, this means you could theoretically have an unconsummated marriage of convenience.”  He waggled his eyebrows.

Hermione grimaced at the idea of a cold and sexless marriage.  “I would like children, Dad, and I would prefer that any children I do have don’t have to go through this rigmarole.”

“Is this legacy business really worth it?” asked her mother gently.  “Do you really want to put yourself through marrying someone just to secure it?  Maybe you can wait and see if you can find a prospective husband naturally and if it works out, it works out, and if it doesn’t, it doesn’t.”

“The legacy comes with a Wizengamot seat and a veto over all the legislation the Wizengamot passes or has passed,” Hermione said.  “I can influence the direction of legislation for the magical world for generations if I take up the legacy.”

“So, yes,” her mother sighed.  She raised an eyebrow at Hermione’s moue of surprise.  “Don’t look so surprised that I understand, Hermione.  Your political ambitions have never been a secret.”

“There are also two vaults,” Pikstaff said.  “One is the accumulated wealth of the Pendragons which is not insubstantial, and the other is filled with artefacts recovered from Camelot before the castle fell.” He looked at Hermione knowingly.  “It includes the entire Camelot library.”

“Well, in that case we should start the husband search now,” remarked her father brightly.  “I have no doubt our girl will conveniently marry a dozen men if it’s for rare and historical books.”

Hermione blushed, but her father wasn’t wrong.

o-O-o

The kitchen of her parents’ home was familiar and safe. 

It had always had the same pinewood doors of the kitchen cabinets, same cream granite worktop, the same terracotta tiles along the kitchen walls, matching with the colour pattern of the tiles on the floor, for as long as she could remember.  The solid wood dining table set off to the side by the French doors to the garden patio had been the place of all of her important talks with her parents.

With everyone redressed into their usual casual muggle outfits of jeans and jumpers, it seemed a world away from the magical ambience that permeated Gringotts.

Hermione sipped the tea her mother had made her and read through the rules again.

“They’re not going to change just because you want them to change,” her mother commented.

“I know,” Hermione sighed and pushed the parchment to the side.  “I just…I was so excited, and this is not what I was expecting at all.”

Her father took his usual seat at the table.  “It’s not really surprising when you consider the historical context of when the rules were made.”

Hermione acknowledged that with a slight incline of her head.  She hadn’t considered that at all in her excitement, and she really should have done, she mused.

“That’s true.  Daughters were either seen as chattel to be sold in exchange for obtaining something of worth to the family,” her mother chimed in, “or as vulnerable members of the family who needed to be protected by ensuring a good match with a man who would look after them well.”

Her father pointed at the parchment.  “I think the latter is actually the reasoning behind these rules.  The King clearly wanted a female descendant to have the best protection possible.  The rules stipulates that the spouse must be of good character and will be tested as worthy.”

“It makes sense when you consider the legacy,” her mother added, sipping her tea.  “If claiming your legacy comes with the amount of political power in the magical world as you described, there will be many people who will be unhappy about what you do with it, or they may want it for themselves and think threatening you is the way to go.”

Hermione couldn’t argue with that.  She knew claiming the power would be like throwing a rock into a pond.  The British magical world was only just recovering from an attempted coup of the government by a dark wizard in Hermione’s last year at Hogwarts. 

Voldemort had terrorised the country back in the late Seventies and early Eighties before he had been ostensibly killed by the then Earl of Gryffindor, James Potter, and his best friend, Sirius Black, both of whom had been fatally injured themselves.  But apparently Voldemort had done some kind of death magic to remain living as a wraith and had successfully returned from the dead to attempt the coup.  He might have succeeded if not for the current Earl of Gryffindor, Harry Potter, who had fought and defeated Voldemort once and for all on the grounds of Hogwarts on All Hallow’s Eve in their Seventh Year.

Hermione grimaced.

She’d made many mistakes with Harry Potter during their school years, and she really only had herself to blame.

“Well, if you’re still set on this,” her father began.

“I am,” Hermione stated firmly.

“Then we should start to consider who might be a viable groom for a marriage of convenience,” her father completed.

Hermione slumped back in the kitchen chair.  She pushed away her immediate thought that Harry Potter would be perfect and focused on her mother who had gotten up to grab a pen and a notebook from the sideboard.

Her mother sat back down and flipped open the notebook.  “Right, so we know the rules are looking for someone worthy; a protector capable of defending you, the Pendragon legacy, and presumably the magical world.”  She looked up at Hermione.  “What other attributes do you need in your groom?”

“I could do this by myself,” Hermione pointed out, uncomfortable with the question.

“You could,” her mother agreed cheerfully and stared at her firmly in the way she always had done when she’d wanted Hermione to do something.

Hermione sighed.  “Someone who is honest.”

Her father hummed.  “If this is an arrangement, are you going to be honest about that in public?”

Hermione rubbed her forehead.  She hadn’t considered that.  Taking up the Pendragon legacy would likely attract the attention of the magical press, especially once she started to wield the power in the Wizengamot and started to make changes.  Did she want the intimate details of her marriage made public?

“Honest with me,” Hermione amended.  “I want a partner, someone who’s going to share my vision for the future and is willing to help me make it happen. Someone who is going to treat me with respect.”

“Well, that rules out all three of your past boyfriends,” her mother commented approvingly.

Hermione shot her a chiding look.

“You can’t say it doesn’t,” her mother pointed her pen at her.

She really couldn’t.  Two of her former boyfriends were terrible wizards and the third wanted a stay-at-home wife.

Her father pulled over The Wizarding World, the magical newspaper she preferred over the hideous Daily Prophet, and tapped the front page.  “You know you’ve just described this Harry Potter lad.  Politically, he’s already making the waves you want, right?  I mean, this whole article is about him leading a voting bloc against a push of anti-Muggleborn legislation.”

“Yes,” Hermione said, her fingers tightening around her mug.

She wasn’t oblivious to the look exchanged between her parents.  She huffed.

“You never really explained what happened between you two at school, just that you weren’t friends and were never likely to be,” her mother said gently.  “Did he bully you?”

Hermione shook her head.  She flushed with shame and closed her eyes briefly as she realised that she was going to have to tell her parents the story.

“Harry was perfectly decent to me at school,” Hermione admitted, opening her eyes.  “We were in the same year, you know that.”  She waved a hand at the paper.  “It was all over the papers we saw when we went for the Diagon Alley orientation with Professor McGonagall.”

“You were excited to meet him,” her father commented wryly.

“I shared a carriage with him and Neville Longbottom that first trip,” Hermione said.  “He was quite quiet, and it was clear that he and Neville were already best friends.  But they talked with me and let me ramble on about how excited I was.”

“And then?” prompted her mother.

“I sorted into Ravenclaw and they sorted into Gryffindor,” Hermione said.  “We didn’t have many classes together, just Astronomy and Quidditch, and the Houses didn’t really interact outside of classes, so we never really got to know each other in the First Year.”  She sighed.  “What little I did know from the school gossip made me question his character.  Harry was given special permission to be in the Gryffindor Quidditch team when first years are banned normally, and the general consensus from the rest of the students was that he’d been given special treatment because of the whole fame thing.”

Her mother nodded understandingly.

“And I knew he and Neville got into a lot of trouble for being out of bounds one time because Gryffindor lost a lot of points and their House ostracized them a bit right after,” Hermione recalled, “but then, at the end of the year dinner, the Headmaster awarded Harry and Neville a lot of points for bravery of all things, just out of nowhere!  It gave Gryffindor the House Cup instead of us.”

“Ah,” her father visibly winced.  “Not cool.”

“I mean, I know now with everything that came out after the battle that Harry and Neville apparently foiled the wraith Voldemort from gaining possession of something which would have given him immortality,” Hermione said, “but at the time…”

“So, you were resentful and not happy that Harry was seemingly able to break the rules without consequences and ultimately was rewarded for that behaviour,” her mother said.  “I assume that dictated your future interactions with him.”

Hermione nodded miserably. 

She hadn’t taken part in the bullying when he had been found out to be a parselmouth in their Second Year, but she hadn’t spoken up for him either.  And he’d won another high amount of points for apparently turning over some dark artefact that had meant Gryffindor won the House cup again. 

In their Third Year, she’d tried to ignore the hoopla of the Potters’ old Secret Keeper Peter Pettigrew escaping Azkaban as she had been very disappointed that it had meant that she had been denied access to a magical device that would have allowed her to take up all the electives she had wanted to explore.  She had resolutely ignored Harry’s presence in her Arithmancy and Runes classes determined not to get involved with the nonsense surrounding him.  In hindsight she could see that she had done a good job of rebuffing any attempt Harry had made to be friendly with her.

Their Fourth Year had been a nightmare with the revival of the Triwizard tournament.  Hermione had believed along with everyone else that Harry had placed his own name in the cup.  She liked to think she hadn’t indulged in the way some of the school had outright hounded him about it (she had refused to wear an awful badge Malfoy had made), but she had made a show of visibly supporting Cedric Diggory, and she had ignored Harry when they’d shared the Champions’ table during the Triwizard Ball.

She vaguely wondered what had happened to Viktor. 

He had been injured in the final competition of the tournament and they never had spoken to each other again.

Hermione shivered.

She would never forget the sight of a bloodied Cedric Diggory turning up and shouting that Harry had been kidnapped by Pettigrew.  Even years later, knowing the Ministry’s own factual record of the event, the tale of being tortured and unwillingly used in a ritual to resurrect Voldemort seemed so far-fetched.  Yet Harry, once rescued, had been taken straight home by his mother and had remained silent about the event once he returned in Fifth Year.

She shook her head and sighed, realising her parents were waiting for the rest of her explanation.

“We got to know each other a little in Fifth Year,” she said.  “Lady Potter was the Defence of the Dark Arts teacher that year and she set up this club to help us get up to speed as our education had been patchy.  Harry helped with that.”

She really admired Lily Potter.  Harry’s mother was everything Hermione wanted to be when she grew up; a muggleborn who was a leader in her profession and admired in the magical world as brilliant and accomplished.

“And what did you think?” prodded her father bluntly.

Her mother sent him a chiding look.

“That he was magically astounding at DADA,” Hermione admitted with a blush.  “He wasn’t brash or arrogant or anything like that either.  He was just very, very good.”

“But?” prompted her mother gently.

“But nothing,” Hermione said, “he just…he never asked me out or showed me any particular interest.  He was friendly and I just didn’t know how to talk to him.”  She sighed.  “You know how I was, Mum.  I wasn’t popular or pretty or anything.  My only real friends were Padme and Luna.”

“But didn’t that one boy ask you to the Ball?” her mother pointed out with a frown. 

“Viktor only asked me to the Ball because he realised that I had no idea who he was, not because he liked me; he told me so himself.” 

“In that case, Viktor was a prat,” her father said.

“Undoubtedly, but anyway I didn’t think Harry would be truly interested in getting to know me,” Hermione said.  “So, I didn’t make an effort to get to know him outside of the club.”

“You’re avoiding telling us the real problem,” her mother said, picking up her tea. 

“I’m not,” Hermione immediately denied, “I just…” she grimaced at her mother’s knowing gaze.  “I’m avoiding telling you what happened because I was an idiot.”

Her father patted her hand.  “We’re all idiots occasionally.  What happened, Princess?”

Hermione smiled sadly at her father’s childhood nickname for her.  “When we went back for Sixth Year, just before the first Hogsmeade weekend, Ginny Weasley found me in the library.”

“Weasley?” mused her mother out loud.  “Why does that sound familiar?”

“Because I dated her brother, Ron,” Hermione said.  She waved her hands to shove that subject away for a moment.  “Ginny told me that her brother had come to her and asked her to let me know that the Gryffindor Sixth Year boys were betting that Harry could convince me to have sex with him in a broom cupboard by the end of the year.”

“Oh dear,” her mother’s face told Hermione that she’d instantly jumped to the right conclusion about what had happened.

“Padme warned me that it didn’t sound like the Harry we knew, but I thought Ginny was being friendly and truthful, she was old friends with Luna,” Hermione felt the heat from her cheeks and knew her face was burning with remembered embarrassment.  “When Harry asked me out to the Hogsmeade weekend, I turned him down.  I was pretty harsh with him.  I told him I had no interest in ever being involved with him.”

“Oh, darling,” her mother reached over the table and clasped her hand in support.

“He apologised for disturbing me and said he wouldn’t trouble me again,” Hermione bit her lip.  “At least it was all in private?  That was the only saving grace about the whole thing.”

But the gossip that she had turned him down had swept the school for a week until Dean Thomas had been found in a compromising position with a Hufflepuff student in an abandoned classroom by Professor Snape.    

“Ron invited me to Hogsmeade himself soon after that and I dated him for most of Sixth Year until I found out he was cheating on me with Lavender Brown,” Hermione sighed.  “Ron confessed that he’d lied about the whole thing about the bet and Ginny had gone along with it just to thwart Harry’s chance with me.  I was an idiot.”

Ron had also called her a frigid bitch when they’d broken up because she had refused to do anything more than some kissing, holding hands, and a light bit of groping above their clothes.  Hermione’s bodily boundaries had apparently been his excuse for cheating.

“Anyway, it was almost the end of the school year when Ron admitted everything and Harry was dating Susan Bones so it was too late to revisit that,” Hermione said quietly.  “But I did send Harry a note with a school owl apologising fully for how I had acted when he’d asked me out, explaining what had happened with Ron and Ginny.  He wrote me back with the same owl saying he accepted the apology.” 

He’d also sympathised about the Weasley interference; clearly it was something he’d experienced himself.

“That was good of him,” her father said evenly.

Hermione nodded.  “Then the Headmaster died from some kind of wasting condition in his sleep and before we knew it school was over.”  She took a breath.  “Susan was killed during the Summer protecting her brother from a Death Eater attack, and Harry didn’t return to Hogwarts for our Seventh Year.  I didn’t see him again until Voldemort showed up and he saved the school.”

“So, you never really got the chance to put it behind you and build a proper friendship,” her mother said.

“Exactly.  He even went abroad after the battle rather than returning to Hogwarts, and when he came back to England, well, we just never seem to cross paths despite us both working at the Ministry,” Hermione concluded.  She didn’t bother mentioning the one time they had crossed paths at the Ministry Ball, Harry had been dating the beautiful French witch who had been with him and she had been with Cyril.  She squeezed her mother’s hand and let go.  “That’s the whole sordid tale.”

“I can see why you’d be a little tentative reaching out,” her mother agreed with a sigh.

“Well, if nothing else,” her father said dryly, “we know Ron Weasley is a complete no on the convenient husband front.”

Hermione broke into startled laughter as she confirmed her empathic agreement.

o-O-o

“Ron Weasley is definitely out,” Padme agreed fervently.  She gave a mock shudder before she frowned.  “What happened to him anyway?”

Hermione shrugged.  She had no idea.

Luna hummed.  “He works for the twins in their shop on Diagon Alley.”  She smiled at Padme’s questioning look.  “My Dad still lives near the Weasleys.  Molly Weasley drops the odd casserole round to him when she wants a sympathetic ear, especially since Arthur died last year.”

Padme grimaced.  “I don’t think I’ve ever been into the twins’ shop.”

“It’s a joke store so I’d think it unlikely that you had,” Luna commented airily.

“I definitely haven’t been there,” Hermione said firmly.  She’d avoided the Weasleys completely after the break-up with Ron and finding out Ginny had duped her.

“Well, I don’t think it’s a good idea to look to any of the Weasleys for candidates for your future husband,” Padme said.  “The twins were a nightmare at school.”

“The twins are good people, and Bill and Charlie are alright, but they’re all married now,” Luna sighed and sipped her cocktail thoughtfully.  “I definitely wouldn’t marry Percy or Ron.”      

Hermione nodded her agreement.  She’d invited Luna and Padme round to her flat for a girls’ night and to confide in them about the whole Pendragon thing.  It had been heartening to witness their horror and disgruntlement over the old-fashioned rules governing the inheritance.

She refilled their glasses with fresh margaritas and sat back down on the cosy sofa next to Padme.  Luna had chosen to sit cross-legged on the rug in front of the fire and Crookshanks was sprawled out over her lap.

“Merlin, I’d forgotten about Percy,” Padme said.  “Wasn’t he working for the Ministry?”

“Still is,” Hermione said with a grimace.  In complete comparison to how she never ran into Harry at the Ministry, she ran into Percy all the time.  He’d congratulated her on reaching her maturity in her last meeting with him before Christmas which had freaked her out a little until she remembered Saint Mungo’s would automatically have sent a notification to the Ministry when they certified the maturity.  “He works in the Office of Archive and Records.”

“No Weasleys it is then,” Padme said.  “I don’t think Cyril and George would be good candidates either.  You don’t really have a great track record, Hermione.”

Hermione groaned and lowered her head dramatically into her hands.  “I know!”

“Cyril was a grifter.  He only interested in you when it got announced that you had inherited the Dagworth-Granger magical estate,” Luna said.  Her silver eyes met Hermione’s sombrely. “Gringotts isn’t going to just announce your status as the Pendragon heir, are they?”

Hermione lifted her head and shook it.  “No, they won’t announce anything until I actually get the legacy.  They’ve kept it quiet ever since I entered Gringotts at eleven.”  She was certain Pikstaff would have preferred that Hermione didn’t talk about it with anybody except her intended husband.

“Cyril’s still in Azkaban for fraud, isn’t he?” Luna murmured.  “He’s definitely out of the running.”

Hermione nodded.  She had quickly dumped Cyril as soon as she had realised that he was just after her money.  The next woman he tried it with had actually invested in one of his projects and gotten him arrested when she had realised it was all a scam and she’d lost half her fortune.

“George was decent,” Padme commented, waving her half-empty glass at Hermione.  “He was just deeply boring and wanted an old-fashioned wife who’d stay home and have his babies.”

“Well, George got his wish,” Hermione said.  “Elaine Kelty asked him out as soon as I dumped him.”

“That tart!” joked Luna.

Hermione laughed.  Her former colleague Elaine had never made a pretence of the fact that she wanted to be a wife and a mother, and Hermione supported her right to the choice even if she’d never want to do the same.  Nudging Elaine in George’s direction had worked out splendidly.

“Your parents are right, you know,” Padme said, sitting forward and catching Hermione’s eyes with her own.  “Potter would be the best choice.”

“I agree,” Luna said.  “Harry chased off a pack of bullies from me once.”

“When was this?” demanded Padme, before Hermione could do the same.

Luna shrugged.  “The second week of school, I think?  It was the week before you and Padme realised what was going on with the older girls and put a stop to it.”

Coming across the Third Year Ravenclaw girls terrorising Luna and trying to steal the locket she wore had been one of the more horrifying moments of Hermione’s school experience.  She and Padme hadn’t hesitated though, and they’d taken the young ethereal first year under their wing which had stopped the others from bothering her.

Hermione frowned.  “He didn’t tell anyone about the bullying?”

“He told Professor Flitwick,” said Luna, “but the Professor only invited me for tea and told me he’d been bullied at school too for being different.”

Hermione resisted the urge to tug on her hair in frustration.  “Honestly, the Hogwarts’ Professors were completely useless when we were at school!”

“Headmistress McGonagall has made a lot of changes,” Padme assured her.  “There’s an anti-bullying policy and everything now.  I wouldn’t work there if it was the same as it was when we were students.”

“You know, I’ve never really asked whether you enjoy being the Astronomy Professor?” asked Hermione.

“I do, and Luna enjoys being a magical travel agent,” Padme pointed at her.  “You’re deflecting.”

“Sue me,” Hermione said, downing a gulp of her drink.  “I really don’t want to get married just to secure the legacy.  A part of me wants to just say ‘stuff it!’ and walk away, but…”

“But you have a lot of political ambition,” Padme completed.  “You don’t want to give up your opportunity to get a seat in the Wizangamot and have the power to make real change.”

“That sounds terribly self-aggrandizing when you put it that way,” Hermione mumbled.

“You’re not self-aggrandizing,” Luna admonished her gently.  “You want to make life better for people, especially muggleborns and magical creatures, and to do that you need power.”

“I could get there on my own merits,” Hermione sighed.  “I’m already Assistant Secretary in the Department for the Care of Magical Creatures.  The legislative Bill for The Care of House Elves that got passed last year was mostly my work.”

“But it would take you years to get to a position where you can sit in the Wizengamot yourself,” Padme said.

“It would be better if I could just marry in my own time,” Hermione sighed.  “I can’t believe I have to get married within a year of my magical maturity.”

“That used to be the tradition,” Luna pointed out.  “Your magic can be finnicky in the first year of maturity, especially for witches.  A bond helps to settle it faster.  That was the reason why witches were originally married off.”

“I might have wanted to marry a woman!” Hermione complained.

“When I told my parents that I was a lesbian, they offered to arrange me with the accountant’s daughter,” Padme said dryly.  “Besides, you don’t swing that way, do you?”

Hermione shook her head.

“You know there are a limited number of wizards who meet the requirements,” Luna said, waving her empty glass at Hermione.  Her silver eyes met Hermione’s questioningly.  “Harry is the best choice.  He even got his bloc to vote for that bill you mentioned.”

“I know,” Hermione sighed.  She picked up her wand and spelled the refill of glasses as she didn’t want to get up from her cosy position.  “It’s just…I was terrible to him.”

Luna winced.

“It wasn’t your fault, Luna,” Hermione said firmly, not the first time in their lives.  “You couldn’t have known Ginny was lying.”

“I was the one who was friends with her,” Luna argued, “and I did know she was deeply invested in becoming the Countess of Gryffindor.”

“Look, the only reason the Weasley brat lied to you about him was because she knew Potter was really very interested,” Padme said.  “Parvati told me that Yule break that it was common knowledge in the Gryffindor common room that he genuinely liked you and was totally crushed when you turned him down.  I didn’t bother telling you back then because you were dating the Weasel and seemed happy enough.”

“Bugger,” Hermione said and slumped back against the sofa cushions.

“Harry accepted your apology, didn’t he?” Padme said.  “He may have asked you out again in Seventh Year except for the whole having to defeat Voldemort thing.”

“He hasn’t shown any interest in me since,” Hermione pointed out logically.

“Well, neither have you,” pointed out Padme bluntly.  “I mean, shown him any interest.”

Hermione pouted.  “How could I?  I made such a terrible hash of things.”

Luna reached over and patted her hand.  “And Harry forgave you.  But, honestly, I think it’s your turn to put yourself on the line if you’re going to ask Harry to help you secure the Pendragon legacy.”

Hermione knew she was right; she just didn’t want to admit it.

“What are your other options here, Hermione?” asked Padme, briskly.  “You could wait and see if you do meet someone suitable in the next year and marry…”

“Unlikely,” Hermione admitted in a grumble.  Her dating choices were very limited, especially if she was choosing someone who met the criteria set down in the rules.

“So, either you pull on your big girl panties and approach Potter, or if you feel you really can’t do that, maybe talk to someone like McGonagall and see if she would intercede on your behalf,” Padme continued ruthlessly.

Hermione sought Luna’s gaze, seeking comfort in the wake of Padme’s blunt rendering of the paths open to her.

“I agree with Pads,” Luna said gently.  “The Headmistress would probably agree to represent you to Harry, she was very fond of you.  She wouldn’t have made you Head Girl if she wasn’t.”

Hermione considered it for a long moment.  Having the Headmistress approach Harry on her behalf…it was the easy option and yet Hermione figured she owed Harry better than a formal, cold approach.

“No, I should speak to Harry myself,” Hermione said out loud.  Her stomach twisted into a knot, but Padme was right.  She shouldn’t expect just because Harry had accepted her apology for him to ever approach her again.  If she wanted Harry to agree to help her, she was going to have to find the courage to talk to him herself. 

Luna nodded, her silver eyes sparkling, and waved her empty glass.  “Then, you should make more margaritas for courage.”

Hermione didn’t argue as she staggered off the sofa.  She was going to need all the courage she could muster.

o-O-o

Part 2

Harry froze at the sight of the large tawny owl perched on the owl stand next to Hedwig.  He recognised the owl as belonging to Lady Hermione Granger.  She’d acquired the owl when she’d left Hogwarts and gone to work for the Ministry.  He’d seen it occasionally delivering mail.     

His mother covered up a laugh with a cough at his surprise and gestured for him to take his seat at the dining table.  He almost regretted that it was the day of their usual weekly breakfast.  They rotated between Harry’s home at Grimmauld Place and his mother’s house.  It was Harry’s turn to host, but unsurprising that his mother had beaten him to the table, she always did.

He was very close to his mother.  Harry had been taunted by Draco all through his childhood for being a Mummy’s boy and not having a father, but Harry hadn’t cared.

His father and his godfather had died defending Lily Potter and Harry.  Harry had long resolved that he would do his best to honour their sacrifice and become a man and wizard that they could take pride in; to love and defend his mother just as they had done.     

He sat down and reached for the linen napkin.

As soon as he did, Dobby popped in with the breakfast platters. 

“What’s on the menu today, Dobby?” asked his mother cheerfully.

“Dobby be trying a new waffle recipe,” Dobby replied, waggling his overlarge eats excitedly. 

The house elf adored Harry’s mother who had somehow acquired him in the confrontation over Lucius Malfoy’s appalling attempt at resurrecting Voldemort during Harry’s Second Year at Hogwarts.  It was only by sheer good luck that the basilisk had only ended up petrifying Mrs Norris and Colin Creevy before the diary had ended up in Harry’s hands.  He’d sent it straight to his mother who had immediately acted to destroy the diary and to deal with the basilisk issue.

Not for the first or last time, he’d witnessed his mother tearing a strip off Dumbledore’s hide for being so foolish as to risk the lives of the students.

If Dobby hadn’t confessed all to Harry about Lucius’ involvement, they would likely never have realised that he’d set up the youngest Weasley up to take the fall.  She had been the one writing in the diary until Harry had found it under a Quidditch stand.  Luckily, being Arcturus Black’s heir gave Harry a lot of political power over the Malfoys. 

Losing his house elf had been the least of the consequences as Grandpa Arcturus had been even less impressed with Lucius’ thin defence that he’d thought Ginny Weasley would have turned the object over to her parents.  None of the Malfoys had taken their exile to Belgium very graciously.  Draco still complained about it to Harry, even though he’d been given leave to continue at Hogwarts and had acknowledged it had actually saved them from getting dragged back into Voldemort’s revived campaign.

“These are cinnamon waffles with crispy bacon and maple syrup swirl ice-cream,” Dobby announced, dragging Harry’s attention back to the present.

Harry sighed and wished that one day Dobby would stop indulging his mother’s love for experimentation and just serve a full English breakfast.

Dobby popped away, leaving Harry alone with his mother.

To avoid dealing with Archimedes, Harry took a bite of the waffles. 

They were good.

“Aren’t you going to read the note Lady Granger sent you?” his mother’s eyes twinkled at him from her seat beside him.  She reached for her coffee, a black bitter Brazilian brew she’d picked up on her last research trip.

Harry threw her a sharp look, but he did signal the owl over.     

The owl landed by his elbow and presented his leg.  Harry carefully undid the string and placed the roll of parchment beside his plate.  He offered it some bacon and the owl flew back to the perch where he shared his loot with Hedwig.

Harry frowned.

Hedwig shook out her feathers and stared at him pointedly telling him without words to stay out of her business.

Harry sighed and picked up the note.  He saw the careful imprint of the Dagworth-Granger crest in the wax seal and took a deep breath.  He’d given up any expectation that Hermione Granger would ever approach him after the whole sorry business of their Sixth Year.  He’d recognised the nuclear levels of mortification that had layered her sincere apology. 

He slipped the note open.

‘Dear Lord Potter,

I would like to invite you to a late afternoon tea at my home today to discuss a matter of some importance.  Please send your reply with Tawny.

With kind regards, Lady Hermione Granger.’

Her address was printed neatly at the bottom of the note.

Harry reread the whole thing to check that he had read the words correctly and hadn’t just made up the invitation in some wishful thinking.

“Well, don’t keep your old mother in suspenders,” his mother said, “what does it say?”

“It’s an invitation to afternoon tea,” Harry said slowly.

His mother lowered her cup and arched an eyebrow.  “You don’t sound that excited.”

“She says she’s got something important she wants to discuss with me,” Harry replied, stroking his chin.

“It could be her way of simply reaching out, Harry,” his mother pointed out gently.  “Even in this day and age, it’s always a little bit daunting as a woman making the first move, especially when there’s a past debacle to get over.”

Harry winced.  “Don’t remind me.”

He still hadn’t forgiven Ron and Ginny Weasley for their interference and never would.  Hermione’s harsh words when she’d turn down his Hogsmeade invitation had crushed his teenage heart.

He shook his head.  “I don’t know.  This reads more like an invitation to discuss a business thing rather than a personal meeting.”

“Let me see,” his mother said.

Harry passed the note over to her.

His mother hummed.  “I see what you mean.”  She tapped the note.  “Still, an invitation to her flat for afternoon tea on a Saturday is personal.  If it was purely a business matter, then she’d have invited you to meet up at some room at the Ministry.”

“Only if she wanted to start a dozen rumours,” Harry sighed.  He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.  “Maybe she wants to keep the meeting private.”

“There’s only one way you’re going to find out,” his mother pointed out.  She handed the note back to him. “For what it’s worth, I think you should go.”

Harry hummed.  His mother had been encouraging him to date and find a nice witch or wizard to marry since he’d turned twenty-one and gone through an early maturity.  She’d been encouraging specifically to ask Hermione out on a date for years since he’d foolishly written to her his first night at Hogwarts and described how he’d met the love of his life on the train to Hogwarts just like she’d met his Dad.

“You’ve liked her for years, Harry,” his mother continued.  “Even if she wants to talk to you about nothing more than support for a new Bill she is authoring, it gives you the chance to get to know her, build a friendship.”

Harry nodded.  His mother was right.  She often was.  It was infuriating.  He wandlessly summoned paper and quill to scrawl a reply.

Tawny flew over and allowed Harry to attach the parchment to his leg and took off before Harry could second guess himself.

“Thank goodness for that,” his mother said as she went back to tackling the maple syrup ice-cream.  “Maybe I’ll finally get my grandbabies.”

“What?!” asked Harry, sharply.  Surely she hadn’t said…

“What?” His mother looked back at him wide innocent green eyes.

And yeah.  He had the same eyes; he wasn’t falling for that.

o-O-o

Harry checked the address on the buzzer and pressed the one neatly labelled ‘7.’  He tried not to feel self-conscious as he waited for Hermione to respond. 

Luckily, he’d realised that Hermione’s flat was located in muggle London and so had dressed accordingly.  Torn over whether her invite was business or personal, he’d ended up dressed in his best pair of jeans and a crisp white shirt under a green jumper.  He wore a black muggle wool jacket and sturdy dragonhide boots because it was still bitterly cold given it was the middle of January.  He carried an old-fashioned black umbrella in case it rained.  He cast another suspicious look up at the grey clouds above the modern apartment block.

The intercom engaged.

“Hello?”

Harry startled at Hermione’s voice.  “Hello, Hermione, it’s Harry.”

“Yes, of course.  Please come on up,” Hermione said.

The door buzzed and Harry opened it quickly.  He oriented himself in the lobby and eschewed the lifts for the stairs, hopping up them until he reached the second floor where Hermione’s flat was located.  The flat was positioned at the end of the hallway.  It likely had a great view of the park, Harry considered.

He was nervous.

He’d loved Hermione Granger from the moment they’d met.  He’d marvelled at her shining intellect and boundless curiosity during the train ride to Hogwarts.  He’d been more than a little heartbroken when they’d sorted into different Houses.  He’d been unable to convince the Hat that he should go to Ravenclaw, he’d barely talked it out of Slytherin.

He knew his Grandpa Arcturus and his mother had initially believed that he had only fixated on Hermione because of the story of his father falling arse over teakettle for his mother on the train.  But then his mother had actually worked for the school in his Fifth Year after Dumbledore had begged her to help him prevent the Ministry appointing someone completely unsuitable.  She had been impressed by Hermione and had understood Harry’s genuine admiration.  It had been her encouragement that had led him to try inviting Hermione to Hogsmeade the following year.

He pushed the memory away again.  Hermione had apologised and the Weasleys interference had never been her fault.  He had to put it in the past if they were ever going to build something new.

He swallowed hard and took a deep breath.  He was the Earl of Gryffindor, Viscount Blackmoor.  He was the Defeater of Voldemort.  He could have afternoon tea with a woman he had long admired.

He knocked briskly on the door.  It only took a moment for the door to open.

Hermione looked beautiful.  She’d grown from a quirky girl with a mess of hair to an elegant woman.  Her hair was tamed and styled into a loose bun and her make-up was light, doing just enough to enhance her warm brown eyes.  He was relieved to find her wearing jeans and a pretty floral blouse teamed with a long green wool cardigan that matched the green of the leaves and stems of the floral pattern.  It looked like he had judged his outfit correctly.

“Please come in,” Hermione invited with a quick smile with enough nerves that it comforted Harry and soothed his own.

They paused in the small hallway for him to take off his coat and hang it on the wall hooks by the door along with his umbrella.  He glanced down at her feet which were bare.

“Shoes off?” he asked.  He was fervently glad that he’d chosen to wear a decent pair of socks.  Usually he didn’t really look at what he put on his feet; mismatched socks had been the bane of his mother’s life when he had started dressing himself.

Hermione nodded.  “If you wouldn’t mind.”

He toed off his boots quickly and set them beside the female equivalent.  He tried not to think how perfect they looked side by side.

“It’s all open plan except for the guest bathroom,” Hermione led the way down the narrow hall and gestured at the first door that they passed, “and the bedrooms.”  She waved vaguely at the other doors.  “But I love it.”

The space opened up into a large rectangle.  To the left there was a hearth with a sofa and chair sitting area; to the right there was a kitchen with a small table set for two with a traditional three tier afternoon tea serving stand bulging with goodies.  The table was placed in front of large windows which overlooked the vibrant parkland below.

“Great view,” Harry commented. 

Hermione nodded.  “I bought the flat because of it.”  She motioned at the kettle on the stovetop.  “Tea?  I have Darjeeling or Earl Grey?”

“Darjeeling would be great,” Harry said. 

A familiar large ginger cat got up from the rug in front of the hearth and padded his way across to say hello.

Harry stooped to let it sniff at his fingers before he chuffed it under its chin and obediently scratched its head.  “Hello, old boy.”

“That’s Crookshanks,” Hermione said.  “You’re honoured.  He usually ignores everyone but myself and Luna.”

Harry hummed and kept the fact that he knew Crookshanks from spending his nights padding around Hogwarts as a cat himself.  Becoming an Animagus had made him feel closer to his father’s memory.  He pushed his glasses up his nose as he glanced around the kitchen.  He caught sight of the bakery box on the counter.

Hermione clocked the direction of his gaze.  “Ah, I hope you don’t mind but I ordered from Madame Puff.”

“Not at all,” Harry said quickly, wanting to put her mind at ease.  “I love her cakes and pastries.”

“Me too,” Hermione said, “and I can’t bake for toffee so…” she gave another nervous smile over her shoulder as she set out the teapot.

“That surprises me,” Harry admitted.  “I seem to recall you excelled at Potions.”  Both he and Neville had been adequate to get through the exams, but they’d lacked any true talent for it.

“Professor Snape told me I had technique, but no artistry,” Hermione said dryly.

“Snape was a terrible teacher,” Harry replied. 

“He really was,” Hermione said.  “Padme said there have been a lot of changes since Professor McGonagall became Headmistress.”

“Is Padme still working there?” asked Harry.  “The last time I ran into Parvati she mentioned her sister had become a teacher.”  She hadn’t been impressed, but Harry had thought it suited Padme from what he remembered of her.

“Yes, she’s the Astronomy Professor,” Hermione said, pouring hot water into the teapot and lowering the cage of leaves to steep.  She popped on the lid of the teapot and led the way over to the table.  “She enjoys teaching.”

Harry pulled out a chair for her and he could see the faint blush on her cheeks as she thanked him and sat.

He took the second seat and gave up how he liked his tea when asked. 

“Please tuck in,” Hermione said as she poured her own tea.

Harry started with the sandwiches.  A finger each of smoked salmon and watercress, ham with a strong mustard, and the traditional cucumber.  He smiled widely at the selection.  It was his favourite.  He said as much and was heartened when Hermione brightened as she agreed it was the best.

Hermione fidgeted over her own sandwich for a long moment before she took a deep breath and bravely met his gaze.  “I want to apologise to you again for my behaviour in Sixth Year.” 

Harry swallowed down the bite of ham and peered over the table at Hermione who looked deeply ashamed.  “You really don’t need to,” he said softly, wanting to ease her, “I accepted the apology you gave me back then, but we were both victims of people plotting against us.”

“I said some terrible things to you,” Hermione murmured, her cheeks flaring red, as her fingers tapped restlessly around her teacup.

Harry didn’t hide his wince.  Possibly, he considered, it was better for them to clear the air about it.  Maybe it would make things less awkward between them.

“I won’t pretend that being told as a boy of sixteen that I was too much of a trouble magnet for a Dark Lord to get involved with wasn’t hard to hear,” he admitted, “but it was true that I was a target for Voldemort and that would have ramifications for anyone involved with me.” 

It had ended up having fatal ramifications for Susan, although Amelia Bones had actually been the target of the attack.  He wrestled down his guilt and grief about Susan’s death.

“You were also right about my getting away with breaking all the rules unfairly,” Harry continued with some amused chagrin.  “Dumbledore did favour me, mostly because he wanted me to fall in with his agenda, but also because he knew my fate was to fight a Dark Lord and he had some sympathy with that.”

“If I hadn’t believed Ginny Weasley though, I would have liked to have gone to Hogsmeade with you,” Hermione said quietly.  “I really didn’t know you outside the school gossip.”

“No,” Harry agreed, “or you would have known that I would never have been involved with any kind of bet about a girl.  My mother brought me up to respect women and I strive to be a man she and my father could be proud to call their son.  Taking part in something like Ginny accused me of is totally horrifying to me.”

Hermione nodded slowly, the colour in her cheeks receding.  “I’m still really sorry I fell for it.”

“I’m really sorry you had to put up with Ron Weasley for almost a year,” Harry replied.  It irked him that Ron had likely had her first kiss, but since irritating and hurting Harry had been the whole point of it for Ron, Harry had long resolved not to get too bent about it.  In the scheme of things, it didn’t matter who had been her first kiss, only that Harry was potentially the wizard who would be her last.

Hermione laughed.  “I’m really sorry about that too.”  She finally picked up her tea and took a sip.  “At least you escaped Ginny’s machinations to become the next Countess of Gryffindor.”

Harry gave a mock shudder, recalling getting ambushed by the youngest Weasley the week before.  He picked up his cucumber sandwich.  “She hasn’t exactly given up yet.”

“Oh dear,” said Hermione with what looked like genuine dismay.  She set her teacup down and started to tackle her own sandwiches.

“The twins once offered to kidnap her and get her married off to Lee Jordan,” Harry reminisced wistfully, “there are some days I wish I’d taken them up on it.”

“If she’s stalking you like a bunny boiler, I can understand why,” Hermione said fervently.

“Well, at least she stopped trying to gift me potioned chocolates when we left Hogwarts,” Harry said.  His mother had been furious at Ginny’s actions and had even complained to Molly.  Unfortunately, Molly thought the whole thing harmless since she’d attracted Arthur with some kind of perfume draught.

“I had a box of potioned chocolates sent to me at Christmas,” Hermione commiserated.

“Did you find out who they were from?” asked Harry, disturbed at the idea of Hermione being targeted by a secret admirer.

“Not a clue,” Hermione said.  “The DMLE said they couldn’t really do anything.”  She picked up her tea and regarded him thoughtfully.  “I have to admit that I lost track of most of the Weasleys after Hogwarts.  I only see Percy regularly and that’s because he manages the Archive now.”

Harry grimaced.  “Does he make you fill out any request with three different forms?  He tells me that it’s just process every time I see him.”

Hermione laughed at his disgruntlement.  “He does, although he’s been very solicitous since I inherited my title.”  

“It’s odd, isn’t it?” Harry commented.  “Bill and Charlie are great, the twins are good men under their pranking, but Percy, Ron and Ginny are all a bit…well…”

“Greedy?  Ambitious?  Selfish?” suggested Hermione.

“All of the above,” Harry offered with a smile.

Hermione swallowed her bite of sandwich and nodded.  “I guess it really does bring a whole new angle to the nurture versus nature debate.”   

Harry finished the last bite of his sandwich and chased it down with a sip of tea.  It was very good tea.  He eyed the scone but determined to wait until Hermione had finished her sandwiches.  His mother would find out somehow and scold him for his bad manners if he didn’t.

He glanced over to her, pleased to see that she had made a reasonable dent.  He hoped it was because she was feeling more comfortable with him after her apology.  He wondered if the apology was what she had wanted to discuss.

Hermione cleared the last of her sandwich and finished her tea.  Harry acquiesced to more tea when she offered to replenish the cups and helped himself to the scone at her invitation.

They debated cream or jam first and the pronunciation of scone as they prepared their plates.  They agreed on the latter and disagreed on the former.  He frowned at her spooning strawberry jam on top of her cream.  He was slightly disturbed to realise he found the flaw endearing rather than awful.  He’d refused to go on a second date with Heather Frobisher because she’d done the exact same thing at their first date three years before. 

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him.  “I had no idea you felt so strongly about this.”

“It’s part of my charm,” Harry quipped.  He pushed his glasses up his nose.  “My grandmother was Cornish; Mum has strong views.” 

“My Dad’s mother was from Exeter,” Hermione explained.  “We used to holiday with her every Summer when I was small.” 

Harry figured he’d just leave bringing her over to the Dark Side to his mother.  He also determined that they should probably stop talking about scones.  “So, your note said you had something to discuss with me?”

Hermione froze momentarily making him feel guilty for reminding her so bluntly.

“Yes, I did, didn’t I?”

She wiped her fingers on her napkin, and he noted they were shaking a little.

“I’m sure whatever the topic is, it can’t be any worse than discussing the Weasleys,” Harry assured her gently.

Hermione gave a quick smile, her eyes briefly meeting his before falling to her plate.  “I’m not really sure where to start.”

He was thoroughly intrigued.  “Wherever you’d like,” he said.  “I’m guessing whatever it is that it’s important and probably personal since you didn’t want to discuss it at the Ministry.”

“Yes,” Hermione said.  She took a sip of her tea as though fortifying herself or delaying. 

Harry waited patiently, popping the last bite of scone into his mouth.

Hermione sat forward, leaning over the table.  “What do you know about the Pendragon legacy?”

Harry’s mind raced before he pushed the cacophony in his head to the side to respond to her and find out exactly why she’d posed the question.

“Probably more than I care to since Dumbledore thought I was the heir at one point,” Harry reached for his tea and took a sip.

“What?!” Hermione frowned deeply.  “But isn’t the Gryffindor line directly descended from Sir Cai of Caerleon, Arthur’s foster brother?”

Harry nodded.  “And my mother is directly descended from Igraine of Tintagel.  Igraine had three daughters with Gorlois; Morgana who was married off to Lot of Orkney, Morgause who was highly magical and given over to the Temple of Avalon, and Raine, who was married off to one of Uther’s knights who was made the Duke of Cornwall after the death of Gorlois.  We descend from Raine’s seventh daughter.”

“So why…”

“Dumbledore believed that the rules about the Pendragon legacy were written by Arthur to apply if he had children, not because he did,” Harry motioned with his tea.  “He thought it was nothing more than the equivalent of a Last Will and Testament written just before the final battle with Mordred and so was precautionary in case Guinevere was pregnant.”

Hermione’s brow was creased with confusion.  “But we know Arthur had two children.”

“Well, Mordred truly wasn’t his,” Harry corrected.  “Morgana created him in a magical ritual after stealing Arthur’s blood, Arthur never acknowledged him, and even so, Mordred died without issue.”

“And Arthur’s daughter with Guinevere?” Hermione asked heatedly.  “Was Dumbledore just going to ignore her existence?”

“Pretty much,” Harry said, nodding at her furious expression.  “Dumbledore was a product of his time; he truly believed in patriarchy.  Since Arthur adopted Cai’s children as his own nephews and nieces, Dumbledore believed that line was the true patrial lineage that the legacy would apply to because of that.  He told my mother once that she wasn’t fit to raise the next King.”

“What an arsehole!” Hermione proclaimed.  She shoved the rest of her scone into her mouth as though punishing herself for the thought.

“Undoubtedly,” Harry agreed cheerfully.  Dumbledore had been a problem all of his life.  In many ways he could never say out loud, it had been a profound relief when Dumbledore had died in his sleep from a wasting curse.

Harry regarded Hermione thoughtfully.  “Have you found the heir?”

Hermione swallowed and picked up her tea taking another determined sip.  “Not exactly,” she prevaricated.

Not exactly.  What did she mean not exactly? 

An idea formed, but Harry shook it away.

It couldn’t be that, could it?

And yet…

“You’re the heir,” Harry said it aloud, almost testing the sound of it, and as soon as he voiced it, he knew deep down in his magic that it was the truth.

Hermione locked eyes with him and she nodded slowly. 

“Wow,” Harry murmured, stunned.  He’d had no idea.  He truly understood why she’d kept the discussion of the Ministry.  If she wanted his support in taking her place in the Wizengamot, he’d absolutely support her.  The Bills she authored were typically brilliant and in line with his own politics.

“The problem is the legacy rules are as sexist as Dumbledore,” Hermione said, derailing his thought.  Her fingers worried at the edge of her napkin.

Harry looked at her uncomprehendingly.

Hermione took a deep breath, holding his gaze firmly.  “I need to be married within the next ten months.” 

Harry blinked.  Married?  His heart sank.  He hadn’t even heard that she was seeing someone.  “So, did you want me to speak to someone or…”

“No, Harry,” Hermione said, “I wanted to propose an arrangement between us.”

Oh.  Oh.

Harry looked down at his tea and back up into the bravely determined expression of the woman he had wanted to be his wife since that first train ride to Hogwarts.  “I think I’m going to need something stronger than tea.”

o-O-o

“Stop laughing!”

Harry tossed a cushion at Neville and slumped back into the sofa with a groan.

Neville caught the cushion and set it aside, hiccupping the last of his chuckles.  “You have to admit, Harry, it’s hilarious.” He picked up his abandoned butterbeer.  “The woman you’ve wanted for years asks you out of nowhere to marry her.”

“As an arrangement!” protested Harry.  “As a matter of convenience to secure an inheritance! Not because she likes me or anything!”

“Well, you don’t really know each other well enough for anything else, do you?” pointed out Neville, ruthlessly.

“Why does everyone think you’re the nice one?” asked Harry.

“Because you’re the one who killed a Dark Lord,” Neville responded, pulling Harry’s attention back to the present.

Harry gestured at him.  “It could have been you and then I would be the nice one.”

Neville started laughing again.  “In your dreams.”

Neville was right.  Harry was always going to be considered the bastard out of the two of them.  Neville just didn’t have it in him.  His godbrother was a ball of sunshine and his best mate in the entire world, Harry mused, gazing up at the ceiling of Neville’s private sitting room at Longbottom Manor and tracing the crack that Bellatrix Lestrange had left behind so many years before.

He shivered.  He didn’t like to dwell on what might have happened to the Longbottoms if they’d been home the night the Lestranges attacked with Barty Crouch Junior instead of visiting Black Keep because Alice had wanted to comfort and help his mother with her grief.  As it was two Aurors had died in responding to the magical alarm raised by the Longbottoms’ house elf, and four had been injured in the fight which had seen all the Lestranges and Barty Crouch Junior sent to Azkaban.

Their mothers were still best friends and co-conspirators in all things and Frank had stepped in as a father figure to Harry, leaving Arcturus to act as an indulgent Grandpa to both boys, and Frank’s mother, Augusta as an equally indulgent Grandmother.

“So,” Neville said, settling back into his chair.  “Tell me again exactly what Hermione said.”

Harry sighed.  “It turns out the Pendragon legacy is very old-fashioned in its inheritance rules.  Hermione as the heir-apparent must marry within a year of her magical maturity to a wizard of good repute capable of drawing Excalibur from its stone.”

“Well, I can see why she asked you,” Neville said.  “You’ve got the best chance of our generation in drawing the sword.”

“You could do it,” Harry said with complete certainty.

“Maybe I’d be a candidate except I doubt the sword would look kindly on my willingness to engage in the betrayal of friendship and brotherhood it would undoubtedly be if I married the woman you’ve had your heart set on since we were eleven,” Neville said gently.

“Not to mention you’re already an engaged man,” Harry murmured.

“Not to mention,” Neville agreed with a grin. 

His face took on a slightly dopey expression which he always wore when he thought of Morag.  Harry wondered if his face did the same thing when he thought about Hermione.

Probably.

That was worrisome.

Harry sighed.  “She was all very business-like about it,” he confessed miserably.  “It would be for all intent and purposes an arranged marriage.” He waved a hand.  “Except in public where she wants it to look like we’d just started dating naturally and married quickly.  She said it would be good if we could pretend a courtship, for Merlin’s sake!”

“The only problem with that is that when it comes out that she is the Pendragon heir, people will gossip that she only married you for the whole sword thing,” Neville commented.

“And they’d be right,” Harry sighed.

“You’d be better off publicising it as an arrangement,” Neville said, leaning forward.  He rubbed his chin.  “Arranged marriages are still done, particularly by the noble families.  Nobody will be that surprised that the heir to Pendragon had sought an arrangement to meet the needs of the inheritance, nor that they chose you, you’re the Earl of Gryffindor and Viscount Blackmoor.” He waited a beat.  “I mean, everyone who knows her will likely be stunned that Hermione agreed to it given her very public feminist views at school, which I’m assuming is why she thinks a courtship would make the idea of her marrying work better, but it is traditional.”

“Fantastic,” Harry muttered.  He rubbed a hand over his face, almost knocking his glasses askew.  But he couldn’t argue with Neville’s position.  He’d been asked a few times by Arcturus if he’d wanted to be arranged, but he’d always demurred, stating he wanted to marry for love.

He still wanted to marry for love, he thought grumpily.

“I know you were hoping that this invitation to tea would be the start of your once-in-a-life love affair,” Neville said gently, “and it still could be, just not…”

“Not the way I planned it,” Harry completed.

“Or wanted it to go,” Neville added.  “You’re a romantic at heart, Harry.”

Harry sat up and looked over at his godbrother.  “You really think I should agree to an arranged marriage?”

“I think it will hurt you to watch her marry someone else,” Neville said bluntly.

Harry grimaced.  He couldn’t deny that.  It had hurt every time she’d dated someone else, even when he’d been dating someone else himself. 

He only had himself to blame, Harry acknowledged.

He’d been devastated (and by devastated he meant totally crushed) by her initial refusal to go to Hogsmeade with him and, despite her apology and knowing that the Weasleys had interfered, he’d let her rejection back then make him apprehensive about approaching her again when he came back from training at the International Magical Law Academy.

He had been intending to ask her out ever since they’d voted through the new House Elf legislation, Harry thought defensively, he just hadn’t gotten around to it.

And now it was too late.

Or was it?

What had Neville said?  That it could be the start of his once-in-a-lifetime love affair, just not the way Harry had planned it.

Well, he’d learned early on with Voldemort and his minions that plans rarely survived the first spell-fire.  He’d do what he did best – wing it. 

There were no rules that prevented him seducing his own wife in a marriage of convenience into falling in love with him.  Wasn’t that the outcome everyone hoped from an arrangement ultimately?  That it would turn into a love match?

“I take it from that look of dawning realisation that you’ve just worked out you can romance Hermione Granger all you want once you’re married to her,” Neville raised his butterbeer in a silent toast.

“I really don’t know why I like you, Nev,” Harry complained, reaching for his own abandoned butterbeer on the coffee table.

“I’m awesome,” Neville declared, “and yes, I’ll stand as your best man so you don’t need to ask Draco.” 

Harry threw another cushion at him. 

o-O-o

Part 3

Hermione hurried into her office and sat down at her desk.

Just another morning, she told herself briskly, just another day.  She switched on the computer and thanked Merlin Lily Potter had found a way for magic and electricity to co-exist.  She unlocked her drawer and pulled out the file she had been working on.

Gerald Otterson, the Head for the Department of the Care of Magical Creatures had asked her to prepare new legislation for the classification of creatures.  She flipped through the notes she had already made and frowned as she stared uncomprehendingly at the text and numbers.

Hermione sighed.

She really had to get it together.  She couldn’t keep dwelling on the events of the weekend or the dinner to come that evening or she’d drive herself mad.

Nothing could be worse than Saturday and making her proposal to Harry.  He’d been friendly and warm during her apology, friendly but snarky about the scone discussion (she’d leave dragging him over to the Light side to her mother), friendly if confused when she’d brought up the Pendragon legacy, and then…

Her request for him to marry her had shocked him.

He’d gotten a little formal after that.

She’d missed the friendliness, Hermione mused wistfully.

Still, he’d invited her to dinner, that had to mean something. 

It could mean that he’d considered her proposal and was going to let her down gently, Hermione thought miserably.

Padme and Luna had been more hopeful when she’d Floo-called them after receiving the invite.

“Morning, Lady Granger,” Charlotte Gatsby, the Secretary for the Department marched in with little fanfare and started to set-up at the desk opposite her.

Gatsby was an old-fashioned battleaxe. Grey-haired styled into a tight perm that had stopped being fashionable years before, a whiskery chin which was never plucked, and steel-grey eyes which missed nothing behind no-nonsense wireframe glasses.  Her suit was always the same grey jacket and skirt teamed with a white shirt buttoned up to the neck and a grey tie.

Hermione admired Gatsby’s work ethic and principles, but she had resolved to never become her.  As she returned the greeting, her eyes flickered to the one photo on Gatsby’s desk which was of her small King Charles spaniel, Poppy.

“Weather is atrocious,” Gatsby noted.  “Mister Otterson will be delayed no doubt.  He always is when it rains.  That’s the problem with living outside of the city and training it in.”

Hermione nodded.  Otterson had apparently never passed his apparition test and he hated Floo travel.  “He has a meeting with Minister Shacklebolt at ten about the Greengrass Elf prosecution.  Hopefully he won’t be too delayed.”

“Did the DMLE send us the file for the meeting?” Gatsby asked briskly.

Hermione crossed to the in-tray and checked through the files there.  She shook her head.  “It doesn’t look like it.”  She hid her grimace. “I’ll just pop down to Records and get it.”

Gatsby nodded.  “Rather you than me.  Arthur was such a lovely man, a credit to the Ministry, but that son of his is an officious twit.”

Hermione swallowed her laugh at Gatsby calling anybody else ‘officious’ as she headed out. 

She was super self-conscious as she crossed to the internal lifts in case she ran across Harry.  She both wanted and didn’t want to run into him before dinner. 

“Stop it, you ninny,” Hermione muttered under her breath.  She had never run into Harry at the Ministry before; it was highly unlikely that she would run into him just because they’d had afternoon tea and she had proposed marriage to him.

Thankfully the lift was empty.

She entered quickly and stabbed the button to take her to Archives and Records.  It deposited her in the right corridor and she took a fortifying breath before setting off to the right.

The large front door to the reception office was held open by a very sensible brown doorstep which somehow clashed with the pumpkin orange linoleum floor. 

Hermione bustled inside and waited by the wooden bar that separated the reception from the back office where Percy and his minions worked.  Percy never let either Maureen or Edith work the desk though and she wasn’t surprised when he swept in after keeping her waiting for a full five minutes.  He was dressed in an impeccable three-piece Navy suit, crisp white shirt and matching Navy tie with a pale blue pinstripe.  Despite the lack of grey, his style reminded her of Gatsby.

“Hermione,” Percy smiled at her in a way that made her want to take a step back, “what can the Office of Archive and Records assist you with this morning?”

“Mister Otterson has a meeting with Minister Shacklebolt on the Greengrass Elf case.  I’m here for a copy of the DMLE file, please,” Hermione said smartly. 

Percy set out a clipboard, quill and ink.  “Please fill in the forms.  Do you have the file number at all?”

Hermione nodded.  “GHE-DMLE-AQ2009.”

Percy stared at her with eyes too reminiscent of Ron’s for her comfort.  He shook himself a little.  “You always did have a remarkable memory.”

Hermione focused on filling out all three forms accurately and with precision.  Any mistakes would see the whole thing trashed and she’d have to start from scratch.

Percy took the clipboard from her and slowly perused each form, tapping one after another with his own wand.  “I’ll just be a moment while I retrieve your file.”

Hermione nodded again.  She brushed down her smart pantsuit and wondered not for the first time whether Gatsby thought her scandalous for not wearing a skirt. 

The clock ticked on another fifteen minutes before Percy emerged again holding a large brown file held together with twine.

“It’s very comprehensive,” Percy informed her.  “I checked to ensure everything was included since it’s going up to the Minister.”

“Thank you, Percy,” Hermione reached over and grasped it firmly.  It was a substantial file, but then the first murder of a house elf since the Bill had been passed about the care of house elves was no small matter.

Percy cleared his throat.  “Hermione, before you leave, I was hoping to have a quick word?”

Hermione paused in her turn for the door and looked back at him inquisitively.  “Of course, Percy,” she said politely, even as she hid her dismay at not escaping promptly.  “How can I help?” 

“I would like to invite you to dine with me this evening,” Percy said.

Hermione looked at him blankly for a long moment.  “Percy, I used to date Ron.”

“I am aware,” Percy said, “but I think you would agree that Ronald and I share very little in common personality wise.”

Hermione bit her lip and repressed the urge to laugh hysterically.  “That is certainly true,” she allowed, “but don’t you think it would be odd for us to date given what happened with your brother?”

“I’d hope you wouldn’t hold Ron’s atrocious and ungentlemanly behaviour against me,” Percy said.  His hand nudged his perfectly knotted silk tie in a rare nervous gesture.

“I don’t,” Hermione said firmly, “but I’m afraid I am going to decline your invitation all the same, Percy, as I already have plans this evening.”

“Oh, well, perhaps another time?” Percy stuttered.

“Perhaps,” Hermione prevaricated, “now if you’ll excuse me, I really should get this file back upstairs.”

She hoped her exit looked like it was more purposeful striding than fleeing in terror but she had a horrible feeling it was a close run thing.

She resolved never to think about the invitation again and to avoid Archive and Records for the next millennium.  Or at least until Percy worked elsewhere. 

The lift was empty again when she entered, and she made it back to the office she shared with Gatsby without running into anybody.

She refused to feel disappointed.

Gatsby glanced up from her computer to peer at Hermione over her half-moon glasses.  “Weasley kept you waiting, didn’t he?”

“He did,” Hermione sighed.

“Got you a cup of tea and a bourbon off the trolley,” Gatsby pointed at the steaming teacup sat on Hermione’s desk along with a side-plate with a single bourbon biscuit on a doily.

“Thank you, Miss Gatsby,” Hermione said, genuinely grateful. 

Gatsby might be strict and demanding but she was a good woman at heart.   

“You should read that file and prepare to go in with Mister Otterson,” Gatsby said, returning to her work.  “Merlin knows he’s likely to get here with only moments to spare so he’ll need one of us in with him.  Might as well be you.  You know that Bill inside and out.”

Hermione’s mouth dropped open a little, but she snapped it shut.  “Of course.”  She sat back down and opened the file. 

Sod thinking about her personal problems and Percy asking her out and whatever Harry was going to say to her that evening, Hermione thought determinedly.  It wasn’t often she was offered the opportunity to present work to the Minister of Magic himself.  It was time to focus on what was important and that was getting justice for Lobby, the house elf, Elphias Greengrass had murdered.

o-O-o

Grimmauld Place was the traditional home of Viscount Blackmoor, but Hermione was surprised Harry was using it as his London base rather than any of the Potter properties.

She used the silver knocker, admiring the deep sage green on the door and the pristinely clean cream door trim.

Hermione startled a little as the door opened and Harry himself ushered her inside.

The hallway was wallpapered tastefully in a traditional print, cream again but embossed with a silver tint here and there in the pattern.  The old walnut furniture added to the charm, matched only by the beautiful floor, and along with a rich green runner which gave the hall some warmth.

“I thought we’d have dinner in the Orangery,” Harry said after stowing her coat and shoes in a hall closet. 

It sounded lovely.

He led her through the townhouse to a square Orangery that faced out to the garden.  It must run the width of the house, Hermione mused, taking in the large space.  The scent of mandarins filled the air and Hermione admired the profusion of plants out loud. 

Harry gestured around the large room with a sheepish expression.  “Plants are all Neville.”

Hermione grinned at him.  “You should tell him it looks fantastic.”

He led her over to a small dining table set by the central window.  The garden looked beautiful in the twilight.  White mage lights were beginning to light up the patio, a fountain of a griffin was backlit with a soft blue light, and she could see the shadowy form of trees and bushes that spoke to a mature garden.

The table was set out with a deep jungle green linen cloth and the matching linen napkins were each held with a silver ring bearing the Gryffindor and Black crests. There was polished silver cutlery at each place setting along with crystal water and wine glasses.  There was a single candle in the centre of the table which gave the whole tableau a romantic air.

Hermione took a deep breath and ignored the way her heart was thudding loudly in her chest.  Maybe Harry wasn’t just going to let her down lightly. 

Harry held out a chair for her and she sat down in what she hoped was an elegant manner.  He took his own seat and a house elf popped in beside him.  She was pleased to see that the elf was clothed in a small clean chef’s outfit and looked healthy.  It spoke of a robust bond between wizard and elf. 

“Hermione, this is Dobby,” Harry introduced his house elf with a fond smile.  “Dobby, this is Hermione, Lady Granger.”

Dobby gave her a toothy smile.  “Dobby be happy to be meeting Master Harry’s Lady Hermione.”

“I’m pleased to meet you too, Dobby,” Hermione said, charmed.

“Dobby be serving you now,” the elf said and popped away.

A tureen of soup appeared on the table along with a wine bucket.  A second later, their wine glasses were filled with a deep golden liquid and the soup bowls in front of them were filled with a rich haddock chowder.  A tiny individual loaf of brown bread appeared on Hermione’s side plate along with a dish of butter.

“Dobby does all the cooking since I’m terrible at it,” Harry explained.  “We’ve soup to start, a roast chicken for mains, and an apple tart with vanilla ice cream for dessert.”

“Wow,” Hermione said.  “Well, this smells divine.”  Her stomach gave a tiny growl of agreement, reminding her that she’d eschewed lunch to work on a briefing paper for the Director of the DMLE to utilise in the Greengrass trial.

“Tuck in,” Harry urged her.  “I figure we’ll talk after starters?”

Hermione nodded and applied herself to eating.  The soup tasted as delicious as it smelled, and she could have easily eaten a whole normal sized loaf of the bread smothered with the butter in one sitting.  She devoured the serving easily.  She set her spoon down with a pleased sigh.

Harry was barely a second behind her.  “Well, I needed that.”

“Did you miss lunch?” asked Hermione sympathetically. 

Harry shook his head.  “Roast Beef sandwich at my desk while I went over the latest version of the budget draft from the Treasury.”

Hermione picked up her wine.  “You have my sympathies.”

“I seriously wonder if anyone in that Department can actually add up,” Harry complained good-naturedly, his green eyes twinkling behind his glasses.  “I take it you did miss lunch?”

“Yes, Minister Shacklebolt asked me to write a paper to help the DMLE in an upcoming trial,” Hermione noted with a faint blush.

Harry nodded.  “The Greengrass trial, I presume?  The work you did on the Bill was impressive.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said, blushing at the compliment.  She took a sip of her wine and set it down.  She took a breath.  “Have you had time to consider my proposal?”

“I have and I’ve also discussed it with my mother, Lord Black, and Neville,” Harry said, sitting forward. 

Their empty bowls disappeared.

Hermione swallowed.  She’d given him permission to talk about it with his confidantes, but it was still a little terrifying to hear that he’d actually done that. 

“My mother was furious and outraged on your behalf about the whole antiquated rules, by the way,” Harry said, raising his glass at her.

Hermione couldn’t help but feel vindicated.  Lily Potter was outraged on her behalf.  That meant something to her.

“Her vote went to helping you circumvent your circumstances,” Harry sipped his wine.

“What about Lord Black?” asked Hermione.

“Grandpa Arcturus is not at all outraged because he’s still traditional for all he’s mellowed after years of dealing with my mother, but he is supportive of a marriage between the House of Black and the House of Pendragon,” Harry stated, waving his glass as he spoke.

Hermione noticed the slight flush on his cheeks.  “Supportive as in?”

“He’d prefer it if the marriage contract was fully reciprocal,” Harry took a deep breath and set the glass down. “Primarily, he’d like me to have an heir.”

Hermione felt her own cheeks heat in response to the idea.  “I would like a child, children.”

Harry quirked an eyebrow at her.  “Perhaps it’s something to put on the table then?”

Hermione nodded and tried to swallow around the lump that seemed to have crawled into her throat.

“Neville is also in favour of my helping you,” Harry finished, “and he made some good points that I think we should consider.”

Hermione picked up her own wine and took a gulp of it.  She looked back over at Harry who seemed contemplative.  “What did Neville say?”

“Neville noted that when it comes out that you’re the Pendragon heir and the rules become known, people are going to assume we only married to secure the legacy for you anyway,” Harry said bluntly.  “Even if we pretend a courtship, nobody will believe it once your position is publicised.”

Hermione bit her lip.  She stared out at the garden.  Neville was right, as much as it was galling to admit it, and it wasn’t like Padme hadn’t also ruthlessly pointed out that a pretend courtship would only look stupid in the wake of Hermione taking up her Wizengamot position.  She sighed, turning back to Harry.   

“What did Neville suggest we do instead?” asked Hermione.

“Arranged marriages are traditional and not unexpected in the magical world,” Harry replied, gesturing outward as though to the rest of the world.  “We can be open to the extent that the marriage is arranged for the benefit of both of our lines, and once your full position is known, people will be even more understanding of why you decided to go ahead with an arrangement when most people who know you, will know it would be unusual for you to agree to one.”

Hermione grimaced.  “Padme and Luna both said something similar to me when we talked about it.”

“An arrangement can also be done at speed,” Harry offered a touch tentatively.  “It’s not unusual for the couple to just marry and then inform people through an announcement in the press.”

“While a pretend courtship means months of dating and then pretending an engagement, and I guess a big society wedding would be expected,” Hermione realised out loud.  She felt a touch stupid for not twigging to the timeline and societal expectation issues.

“I don’t know about you,” Harry commented, “but I’m also pants at pretending, especially to friends and family, and I have a feeling you’d want to keep the Pendragon part of this to only a very few people before the big reveal?”

Hermione sighed, chagrined.  She nodded.  “I’m pants too.  I don’t like lying so I’m not particularly great at it.”

Which meant her original plan to try and pretend a courtship and marriage was definitely out, Hermione realised.  She bit her lip.  Why had she thought any of that would be a good idea?  Padme’s original suggestion had been an arrangement.

“I really don’t know why I thought pretending something would be a good plan,” Hermione admitted, flushing furiously with embarrassment.

“Eh,” Harry shrugged, “I get wanting to keep things looking like it’s a normal situation.”  He picked up his wine.  “You just have to remember that arrangements might be going out of fashion, but they are still normal for the magical world, especially for noble lines.” He smiled sympathetically.  “I get the clash between what you’re used to and what is usual for magicals.  I was mostly raised in the muggle world until I was eight since it was easier to keep me safe there.”

“Did you go to primary school?” asked Hermione, her attention diverted momentarily by his admission.

Harry nodded.  “Until I was eight, that was when I started being tutored at home.  I don’t really remember much except for story time on the playmat and the jungle bars in the playground.  I broke my arm falling off one when I was six.”

Hermione winced.  “Ouch.  I’ve never broken a bone, but then again I avoided the playground.  My mother usually says I was born with my head in a book and that’s where I’ve stayed.”

Harry smiled at her. “So, we’re agreed that even publicly an arranged marriage would be best to meet your circumstances?”  

“Yes, agreed,” Hermione said.  Her mouth was suddenly dry, and she hastily took a sip of water.

“Ready for mains?” Harry asked.

Hermione nodded.

A plate appeared in front of her filled with succulent slices of roast chicken breast, a perfect round of stuffing, braised carrots and cabbage, and golden roast potatoes.  A gravy jug appeared on the table between them, steam wafting into the air.

Hermione set about drenching everything on her plate in gravy. 

“I hope you’ll forgive me if my next questions feel intrusive, but if we’re to obscure the Pendragon part of this, we’ll need to base the arrangement on the circumstances of the Dagworth-Granger line,” Harry said, having made some headway into his food.

Hermione patted her lips with her napkin and motioned at him with her fork.  “Go for it.”

“Are you the last of the line?” asked Harry.

Hermione shook her head.  “I don’t know if you remember Megan Jones from school?”

Harry brow creased in confusion.  “Hufflepuff?  Blonde, freckly with glasses?  Didn’t she marry Theodore Nott straight after school?”

Hermione nodded.  “It turns out that she and I are very distant cousins which we only found out when she and Theo went to claim the line for their second son.  I think her great-great grandfather and my great-great grandfather were brothers.  Their eldest brother was the main Dagworth-Granger line.”

“Your great-great grandfather was the middle brother?” deduced Harry.

Hermione nodded again, spearing another carrot.  “He only had two sons who were both squibs.  They were sent to live with another squib relation on the Granger side – it’s a family rule apparently to drop the Dagworth part of the name if a child was born without enough magic to be a witch or a wizard.  My Dad is directly descended from the eldest son, Humphrey.”

“You said Megan tried to claim the line for her second son?” asked Harry, pausing to take a sip of water.

Hermione nodded.  “Her great-great grandfather only had a girl.  Only the girl was a squib, and she was kept with the family as her mother wouldn’t countenance sending her away.  She ended up marrying a wizard, and that’s Megan’s line.  According to her family history, while her own father is a squib, her grandfather and older uncle were wizards, but then they died of dragon pox before Voldemort killed the main Dagworth-Grangers’ line and so were not eligible for the inheritance per se.”

Harry neatly placed his cutlery on his empty plate.  He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.  “I guess if her family remained in the magical world, they knew about the inheritance.”

“Exactly,” Hermione said, cutting through the last of her chicken.  “I only found out about it because Gringotts notified me of the potential line challenge when Megan tried to claim the title.”

“How did she take it?” asked Harry.  He tapped the empty wine glasses with his wand and they refilled.

She shot him a smile of thanks.  “Megan was mortified that she hadn’t realised there was another eligible candidate ahead of her in the line.  I guess my line was out of sight, out of mind as far as the family still in the magical world was concerned.”  She shrugged.  “When we initially met at Gringotts about the whole thing, Theo did try to argue it should go to their son anyway based on male-preference primogeniture, but Chipaxe, the Account Manager, was clear that it was the first magical in the succession regardless of biological sex.  It will only go to their line if I die childless or my children are not magical.”

“I assume Megan’s the current acknowledged Dagworth-Granger heir?”

Hermione shook her head.  “My Will acknowledges her second son, Charles, as my heir until I have my own children.”

Harry nodded slowly.  “That makes sense.  She’s already Lady Nott. Her eldest inherits Nott’s title.  Having a title for the second son to inherit would make a neat solution for them to make both boys equals in essence.”

“I figure I can settle the title and estate on Charles formally once I have the Pendragon title,” Hermione said.  “Since Megan and I found out we’re family, we’ve been getting to know each other more and she’s lovely; she’s a very loving and devoted mother to Iain and Charles.  I’ll have the authority to confer titles to my own children so giving up the Dagworth-Granger one to them won’t be a hardship, and my Dad really isn’t fussed about it.”

“You said on Saturday that the Pendragon title comes down through your mother?” checked Harry.

Hermione nodded.  “My mother’s line is all women.  She had a younger sister, my Aunt Ellie, but she died just before I went to Hogwarts, and my Great-Aunt Debbie lives with her friend, Louise.”  She smiled sadly.  “We’re pretty sure they’re more than friends but we’re not going to drag them out of the closet if they’re not comfortable with being openly gay.”

“That means there isn’t anyone vying for the Pendragon legacy then?” Harry checked.

Hermione shook her head.  “Pikstaff has kept a close eye on the family tree.  I have very distant cousins again in the States, and another set in Australia, but they’re all completely non-magical.”

“But if your line ends, they’d be the hope of the Pendragon legacy,” Harry stated.

“That they could produce a magical child in the future?  It’s always a possibility,” Hermione agreed.  “The legacy inheritance rules are pretty clear though.  If my husband fails to draw the sword from the stone, or if my children are non-magical, the line goes dormant again until there is a magical candidate.”

“I think I should probably meet with Pikstaff and go over the rules,” Harry said.  “It would be awful for you if we married and I can’t meet the criteria fully.”

“I’ll set that up,” Hermione said, scooping up the last of her potato. 

Harry nodded his thanks.  “I suggest publicly we frame the arrangement as my approaching you in the wake of you reaching out to me for a view on an upcoming legislation you’re currently researching.  Most of the Gryffindor common room was aware of my interest in you back at Hogwarts so none of our peers will be surprised.”    

The empty dinner plates disappeared along with the gravy jug.

“I guess I could use the Dagworth-Granger inheritance to justify why I’d entertain an arrangement rather than simply expect a courtship,” Hermione murmured, uncertain that it would be enough explanation. 

“Most people will just assume it,” Harry said.  “You don’t need to explain yourself further than the arrangement is to the benefit of your magical line.  A minor magical noble house marrying into the Gryffindor line would be seen as a societal coup by the traditionalists.”

She fiddled with the stem of her wine glass.  “So, you need to meet Pikstaff, what’s our next step after that?”

Harry pointed at her.  “You need magical representation and guidance.”  He grimaced.  “It’s usually a close magical relative, so Nott could…”

“No,” Hermione cut in.  “Padme originally suggested I approach Headmistress McGonagall to help approach you.  Whoever represents me needs the whole truth of what we’re doing and I think she’d understand the need for discretion.”  She really didn’t want to have to involve Nott who had never hid his dislike for her.

“Minerva’s a great choice,” Harry said.  “Well, I’ll talk to Pikstaff, you talk to Minerva and I’ll set up a meeting with us, your parents, Minerva and Arcturus and my mother for next weekend.  We can hammer out the details of the arrangement then.”

Hermione nodded, unable to speak.

“Dessert?” asked Harry.

“Dessert,” she agreed.  And turned her attention to the perfect slice of apple tart and scoop of vanilla ice cream that appeared. 

Merlin, she thought, at least she knew the food was going to be tremendous when she married Harry!

o-O-o

“This is an excellent brief, Mister Otterson,” Amelia Bones said as she placed the parchment down on the conference room table.

Hermione felt a rush of pleasure at the compliment from the Director of the DMLE even as irritation fluttered around it because Otterson simply accepted the praise as his due.

“We hope it makes a difference to the preparations for the upcoming trial,” Otterson said with a bright smile.

“It will,” Bones said.  She clasped her hands atop the document.  “I’d like you to be involved with all the pre-trial meetings and to sit second chair as a consultant for the trial itself.”

Otterson froze like a deer in the headlights.  “Well, that’s, but I don’t think…” his hand tugged at his tight collar.

“I appreciate your concern as it is quite an undertaking of time,” Bones said dryly, ignoring his sputtering.  “Perhaps one of your staff could deputise on your behalf in this instance?  Perhaps Lady Granger here?”

Otterson stopped tugging at his collar and smoothed his bland beige tie down over his cream shirt.  He tweaked the cuffs of his beige robes before he looked over at Hermione.  “I think that would be acceptable, if you can fit such a commitment into your schedule of work, Lady Granger?”

“Of course, Mister Otterson, I would be delighted to represent you and the Department in this matter,” Hermione said crisply, schooling her features not to show anything more than polite interest rather than her inner glee.

Otterson gave her a sharp nod.  “Excellent.”

“Perhaps we should let you get back to your Department, Gerald,” Bones said.  “I have a few questions on the brief, but I would rather not take up your time and attention further.”

“Thank you,” Otterson said.  He excused himself without looking at Hermione and slipped out of the conference room.

Bones’ Head Auror, Frank Longbottom, snorted a laugh and Bones shot him a look.

“Did Gerry contribute anything, Lady Granger, or did he simply put his name on the brief?” Longbottom asked.

“I’m afraid I can’t comment on that, Lord Longbottom,” Hermione said firmly.  Otterson did have an awful habit of taking credit for her and Gatsby’s work, but she wasn’t going to disrespect her boss in front of others. 

She tried hard not to wonder how much Lord Longbottom knew about what was going on with her arrangement with Harry and whether Neville had told him anything. 

Harry’s meeting with Pikstaff had happened quickly.  The rules were clear that it was only after the marriage when Harry could be tested.  Harry had suggested that they attempt the sword straight after the ceremony as the marriage bond would be the critical determinator in whether they were married.  If Harry did not draw the sword, they could annul the arrangement and Hermione would be free to marry again.

Hermione appreciated that Harry was giving her an out, but at the same time thought it unnecessary.  If Harry wasn’t able to draw the sword, it was unlikely that anyone in their generation could. 

Minerva agreed.

Hermione still couldn’t quite believe that she’d been invited to use the Headmistress’ name.  Still, as Minerva had said, Hermione was her Queen in all but name and entrusting her to help arrange a significant marriage contract.

“Quite right,” Bones said sharply, drawing Hermione’s attention back to the present as the Director sent Longbottom another chiding look.  “Now, I did have a few additional questions, despite the excellence of your brief…”

Hermione focused on answering the Director’s questions.  It was a huge boon to be asked to take an active role in the trial and she wasn’t going to let the opportunity drop. 

She was so intent on answering a question about how they could prove the second charge of abuse of the house elf Greengrass had murdered that she actually physically jerked in surprise as the door flew open.

A young trainee Auror stood red-faced in the doorway.

Bones glared at him. “Pillock! What are you…”   

“Director, you have to come quickly!” Pillock waved his hand behind him.  “Mister Otterson has collapsed and his Secretary says he was poisoned!”

What?!

Hermione hurried after the group as Lord Longbottom and Director Bones followed Pillock out of the offices of the DMLE.  They took the stairs down to the Care of Magical Creatures rather than waiting for the lift.

The corridor was filled with gawkers who Bones pushed past to get them into the office. 

Gatsby stood beside her desk, with an unusual expression of worry painted over her stern features.  Two other Aurors stood off to the side by Hermione’s desk.  Two Healers were on the floor treating a prone Otterson.  The diagnosis spell shimmered in gold lettering above Otterson’s head. 

Hermione read it as she made her way over to Gatsby.  Otterson was only breathing because of an intervention spell, his throat had closed up and his tongue had swollen.  It looked like a really bad allergic reaction.

Suddenly one of the Healers slapped a portkey on Otterson’s chest and they disappeared leaving behind the second Healer, an older wizard with grey hair pinned up in a bun.

“Healer Pok,” Bones stepped forward, “what can you tell us?”

“I believe Miss Gatsby may have saved Mister Otterson’s life, Director,” Pok said briskly.  “She rendered first aid and sent for us within seconds of the allergic reaction setting in.  Morris has accompanied him to Saint Mungo’s; he’ll need emergency care for today at least to purge his system fully and restore his breathing.”  He waved his wand and a medical bag to the side packed itself quickly.  “I’ll write up the report and send it in immediately.”

“Thank you, Pok,” Bones said.

Pok swept out, his medical bag toddling along after him like a duckling.

“Director, Sir,” the two Aurors in the room gave respectful nods.

“Report, Ellerton,” Longbottom ordered.

The bald-headed Ellerton wore the badge of a Senior Auror.  He motioned at an open box of candy on Hermione’s desk.  “Otterson seems to have had a reaction to one of these, Sir.”

Longbottom crossed over and tapped the candies with his wand.  “Strawberry cream chocolates from Sweet Things on Diagon Alley.  Two sets of fingerprints.” He motioned at the Auror next to Ellerton. 

“Badger, take Pillock and get these to the forensics lab, I want a full rundown on them!” Longbottom ordered. 

The two had left with the chocolates, closing the door behind them to shut out the hovering busybodies gathered to see what was happened.

Longbottom cast a privacy charm and turned to Hermione and Gatsby.  “Did either of you eat any of them?”

Hermione shook her head.

Gatsby motioned at the space where the chocolates had been.  “Delivery boy from Sweet Things dropped them off while Mister Otterson and Lady Granger met with you.  Said they were from a secret admirer of Lady Granger’s.”

“Trainee Pillock said you had claimed Mister Otterson had been poisoned,” Longbottom stated crisply.  “Do you have any reason to suppose the chocolates were poisoned given the Healers believe it was an allergy?”

Gatsby bristled.  “I said potioned, not poisoned.  Mister Otterson is not allergic to the strawberry creams,” she declared bullishly.  “It’s one of his favourite candies, that’s why he couldn’t but rudely help himself when he came back from the meeting, even though the box was left for Lady Granger.” She sniffed.  “He is allergic to Eye of Newt which is common in most love and attraction potions.”

Longbottom nodded.  “Right.” He turned to Hermione.  “Any new beau on the scene, Lady Granger, who might have sent you chocolates?”

“Not one who would have potioned them,” Hermione said honestly.  She figured Neville hadn’t told him anything because there was nothing knowing in the straightforward way he’d asked her. 

“We will need to verify that,” Bones said kindly.

Hermione stilled her fidgeting fingers and bit her lip.  She really did have to tell them if she was going to help the investigation.  “I will need discretion about this, Director.”

“You’ll have it,” Bones promised her.

Hermione took a deep breath, feeling awkward about admitting she and Harry were involved given the Bones’ family history with Harry.  “I’ve begun a discussion with the Earl of Gryffindor about a potential marital arrangement.”

Bones and Longbottom blinked at her in surprise.  Ellerton’s mouth dropped open a touch before he snapped it back shut. 

Gatsby gave a sharp nod.  “A very good choice, Lady Granger,” she said approvingly.

“Indeed,” Bones said. 

Hermione blushed a little.  She turned to Longbottom. 

“I always run a diagnostic on unexpected food presents,” Hermione said crisply.  “This is the second box I’ve received.  I reported the other to the DMLE at Christmas.”

Longbottom nodded slowly.  “We’ll check the records.”  He motioned at Ellerton.  “We will have to question Lord Potter to confirm he didn’t send you the chocolates.  Please do not alert him to the query, but I promise you that we will be discreet.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said politely.

“We’ll let you both get back to work,” Longbottom said.  “If you can write up a short statement, Miss Gatsby, that would be helpful.”

“I’ll do it immediately,” Gatsby said.

Bones motioned at Hermione.  “We’ll resume the discussion on the trial tomorrow.  I’ll send a meeting notification later.”  She swept out, breaking the privacy bubble and Hermione could hear her dispersing the interested hoverers in the corridor with brusque efficiency.

Longbottom winked at her as he passed.  “I also think it’s a very good choice, for the record, Lady Granger.”

Hermione blushed. 

Finally the office was empty of everyone but herself and Gatsby.  She closed the door.

Gatsby sat down heavily in her chair.  “I’d best get started on that statement.”

“Should we notify Madame Otterson?” asked Hermione, thinking of Otterson’s thin and shrewish wife.

Gatsby shook her head.  “No need to put ourselves through her dramatics. Mungo’s will take of that.”  She adjusted her glasses and Hermione noted her shaky hand.

“I’ll go and get us a pot of tea,” Hermione said.  “I think we could both do with a cup after all that.”

Gatsby nodded.  “Tea would be appreciated.  Thank you, Lady Granger.”

Hermione quietly exited the office and closed the door to give Gatsby some privacy.  She paused momentarily in the empty corridor and took a deep breath.

Who would want to send her potioned chocolates, Hermione wondered.  She shook her head and set off in search of tea. 

Tea would put the world and Gatsby to rights.

o-O-o

Part 4

“I just can’t believe the store offers a potioning service!” Hermione’s mother, Margaret, proclaimed as she accepted the cup of tea from his own.

“I know,” Harry’s mother said, “it’s outrageous.  The laws around potion usage are very lax and outdated.”

Harry nodded in agreement.  He and his voting bloc had been petitioning the DMLE for years to get the law changed.  Maybe it was something Hermione could push once she was Queen. 

“This is why I test anything delivered anonymously,” Hermione reassured her mother, offering her a biscuit from the plate that was being passed around his most formal sitting room at Grimmauld Place.

The families had gathered along with Minerva to discuss the details of the arrangement as planned.  Hermione and her parents had taken one long sofa on the right of the fireplace, Minerva sitting in the closest chair. His Grandpa Arcturus had taken the chair next to Minerva, leaving the other long sofa for Harry and his mother.  Pikstaff had also been invited along and he had claimed the small stool by the fire to the right of Waylon, Hermione’s father.

Harry couldn’t blame the goblin for hogging the stool.  Outside the January weather was cold, wet, and grey.

His grandfather was the only one dressed in wizarding clothing as a result; his heavy wool green day robes were buttoned tightly to his perfectly knotted matching silk green, gold and blue paisley cravat. Everyone else was dressed in smart but warm muggle-style clothing.  Minerva was in the tweed suit she usually wore in the muggle world; it was a tad old-fashioned with its long skirt and laced collared high-necked blouse, but it was serviceable still.  The rest of them had chosen variations of smart trousers teamed with layered tops whether cotton shirts under jumpers or matched with cardigans, even Pikstaff.

“I usually just chuck anything delivered anonymously in the bin,” Minerva stated bluntly. “Much safer.”

“But then you can’t get to the bottom of who sent it to you in the first place,” his mother pointed out.

Arcturus snorted.  “Most of the time, Lily, that’s a losing game.”  He toasted her with the tumbler of Firewhiskey which he had proclaimed was most appropriate for a conversation about marriage.

Most of the time, the DMLE couldn’t even prosecute when they did know because the laws were so bad, mused Harry.  Ginny Weasley had never received more than a detention for trying to potion him all the way through Hogwarts. 

“They haven’t found who was behind your potioned chocolates, have they, dear Hermione?” Arcturus continued.

Hermione shook her head.  “I’m afraid not, Lord Arcturus.”  She shrugged.  “The order was sent in by a Ministry owl along with the payment in galleons.”  She sighed.  “According to Lord Longbottom, apparently the record of the other box of chocolates is missing.  Percy Weasley came to the office to apologise in person for the discrepancy.  There’s an investigation in progress for that, but it’s likely that if my admirer is someone at the Ministry, they could have contrived to steal it before it even got to Archives and Records.”

Harry frowned.  That sounded all very suspect to him.

“Hopefully this whole hullabaloo around this second attempt will frighten your secret admirer back in their box,” his mother said. “How is Gerald now, by the way?”

It had been news to Harry that his mother had attended school with the Head of the Department of the Care of Magical Creatures.  Gerald Otterson had been in the same year as Frank, a couple of years ahead of his own parents.

“He’s still in the hospital,” Hermione said.  “Minister Shacklebolt has appointed Miss Gatsby as an interim Head since it’s unlikely that he’ll be back for months.  They had to regrow his lungs because they were so compromised.”

All the magicals in the room winced in unison.

“Is that bad?” asked Margaret cheerfully, taking in their expressions with a broad glance around the room.

“It’s a good year of recovery,” Minerva informed her.  “You literally have to relearn breathing.”

“I’ll send a card,” his mother declared.

Minerva shook her head.  “Only if you want that shrew of a wife of his to declare you’re trying to steal her husband, Lily. You’ll remember how Julia Kelly was always prone to dramatics.”

His mother grimaced.  “I’d forgotten he’d married her.”

“Your husband and his friends did prank her with a creepy moving life-sized snake once,” Minerva said dryly. “She almost screamed the tower down!”

His mother chuckled.  “I’d forgotten about that!”

“It was an excellent piece of transfiguration,” Minerva commented wistfully.  “James was very talented.”

There was a beat of respectful silence.

Harry cleared his throat and nudged his mother who was staring into the depths of her teacup.  “I’ll send a card from the House of Gryffindor; his wife can’t complain about that.”

“No, indeed,” Minerva agreed dryly, “it will be seen as quite a feather in his cap.”

Arcturus cleared his throat and looked pointedly at Harry.

Harry nudged his glasses up his nose, recognising Arcturus’ signal to move the conversation along to what they were there to discuss.  He glanced across at Hermione who gave a small nod.

“I want to thank everyone for coming,” Harry began.  “I think we all agree that the rules surrounding the Pendragon legacy reflect a different time, and that had things allowed for an equality in inheritance, Hermione would likely be able to draw the sword from the stone herself.”

“Hear, hear,” Waylon said, raising his own cup to his daughter.

Hermione’s cheeks went a lovely shade of pink.

Harry smiled at her as her eyes met his across the lovely antique rug between them.  “Pikstaff has confirmed I likely meet the initial eligibility criteria.  It will therefore be my honour to attempt to draw the sword from the stone to secure your inheritance on your behalf.”

Hermione smiled warmly back at him.  “I have every faith that you’ll be considered worthy, Harry.”

Harry felt strengthened in the belief that he could do it just from the sincerity in her words. 

His mother’s elbow nudged his arm, reminding him that it wasn’t only Hermione and himself in the room.

“Grandpa, perhaps you can give an overview of a typical magical marital arrangement and we can go from there?” Harry said.

Pikstaff produced a parchment and quill from seemingly thin air, ready to take notes.

“They are pretty typical in the magical world,” Arcturus said, leaning forward.  “Going out of fashion now, but still entirely valid.  An arrangement will not be a surprise to anyone in nobility.  Essentially, the arrangement is a magical contract between the two noble houses.  It will detail the business to be done between the two houses as part of the arrangement and the division and consequences should the marriage end for any reason.”

Minerva, who had been nodding along to Arcturus’ explanation, sat forward.  “The business in this case is the securing of the Pendragon legacy for Hermione.  I believe you have already proposed, Harry, to attempt the sword immediately after the ceremony to allow for an annulment should you be unsuccessful?”

Harry nodded.

“Thank you,” Minerva said, “although I think we all believe as Hermione that you’ll be found worthy.”  Her eyes twinkled at him behind her glasses.

Harry felt his cheeks heat a touch.

“What we will seek is a declaration that the Houses of Potter and Black will honour Hermione’s right to assume the political power of the legacy without interference,” Minerva continued, and her sharp gaze speared Arcturus.

“Pendragon trumps all Houses, my lovely Minnie,” Arcturus conceded.  He looked over at Hermione.  “We support you taking your rightful seat, and while I can’t promise not to bend your ear on my own politics, I think you and Harry’s views are mostly aligned, are they not?”

“We believe so,” Hermione said.

Harry nodded.  They’d ended up talking about Hermione’s political agenda over the apple tart at their dinner, and, while there was some disagreement on minor points, their primary aims were very much in synch.  Harry was looking forward to the complete chaos Hermione’s veto was going to cause.

“Excellent,” Minerva said, “so there will not be a problem adding a clause to that effect.”  She motioned at Hermione.    

“I’ve discussed it with my family,” Hermione said, “and in exchange for your help and support in the matter of the inheritance, we would like to offer you in recompense heirs to each of your lines, to be born within ten years of the marriage as part of the arrangement.  I’d like to spend the first couple of years in politics and stipulate that as part of the terms.”

Harry felt like he’d been punched, breathless and stunned.  “You…” he took a breath, “really?!”

“Yes,” Hermione said, holding his gaze.  Her fingers tapped against her teacup.  “It’s not an entirely altruistic gesture, Harry, as I’ll also need heirs.”

Harry accepted that with an incline of his head.

“Well, I’d like to say a reciprocal exchange isn’t necessary as we’d help you out regardless,” his mother commented dryly, “but as I’d really like grandchildren, I’m going to shut up!”

Arcturus looked smugly happy.

Harry smiled.  “Thank you, we accept.”  He hoped his plan to have Hermione fall in love with him was successful, or that at least their marriage would be on good enough terms by then so that they’d take a natural approach to conception rather than using ritual spells or potions.

“Right,” Minerva said cheerily. “We’re proposing a small wedding to be held next weekend, guests to include only those family and friends already in the know.  Assuming the marriage is not annulled by Lord Potter failing to draw the sword, a Spring Blessing and Ball will follow to address societal expectations.”

“Agreed,” Harry said.

“There are family who would expect to attend,” Arcturus pointed out, gesturing at Harry with the empty tumbler.  “Since the DMLE had to be informed you were in discussions, it is likely that the news of you getting arranged at least will start to make the rounds before any formal announcement.”

He wasn’t wrong, Harry thought tiredly.  The Malfoys and the Tonks would be upset at being excluded – for very different reasons. 

“I do not mean to intrude on a wizard’s business, but it would not be wise to tell anyone further of the possibility of an heir to the Pendragon legacy,” Pikstaff advised.

Arcturus accepted that with a sigh and Harry shrugged.

“We’ll do a family dinner the following week and announce everything to them ahead of the Wizengamot?” he suggested as a compromise.

“That works for me,” Hermione said, supportively.  “If we can include my Great-Aunt, her partner, Theo and Megan in that too.”   

“Done,” Arcturus declared.

“Sword annulment clause notwithstanding, we’ll do a standard exit clause otherwise,” Minerva said, “that allows for each party to request a dissolution of the marriage at any time without blame or fault assigned, assets to be divided to each as per accounting at the time of the marriage, and provisions made for any children at the time of dissolution.”

Harry glanced to Arcturus who nodded. 

“Shared custody of the children in such a dissolution,” Arcturus said firmly. 

Hermione nodded at Minerva.  “Of course.”

“Then, our primary business is done,” Minerva declared, “unless you have something to add?”

Harry shook his head after a quick check with his Grandpa and mother.

“Excellent,” his mother declared, jumping up, “perhaps we can leave Hermione and Harry to work out the finer details of the wedding, announcements, etcetera, and adjourn ourselves to the drawing room for cocktails?”

Hermione’s mother got to her feet, pulling her husband to his as she did.  “What a good idea.  I’d love a cocktail.”

Harry watched as his mother corralled and shepherded everyone but Hermione and himself, leading them out of the room.  The door shut with a firm bang.

Hermione turned to him a little flustered and bewildered. 

“Subtle, aren’t they?” Harry said wryly.

Hermione laughed.  She set her teacup down and smiled at him.  “Do we get cocktails?”

Harry grinned at her.   “That can be arranged.”

o-O-o

“You seem unusually cheerful, Harry,” Frank teased as he sat down opposite Harry.

Harry eschewed the chair behind his desk to lean against the desk on the visitor’s side, hands tucked into the pockets of a rather smart Navy pinstripe set of trousers.

He rarely worked from the Gryffindor office at the Ministry, preferring the privacy and comfort of his study at Grimmauld Place, but after the chocolate incident he’d decided he would much prefer to be within reach of helping his future wife.

His future wife.

He still goggled at the idea that in less than a week he would be married to Hermione Granger.  Truthfully, he was a little nervous about the sword and stone thing, but everyone else seemed convinced that he’d be found worthy of being a protector of Albion.

Pikstaff had bluntly told him to get over himself.

And if he was married and secured the sword then he and Hermione had years ahead of them to build a marriage, for Hermione to fall in love with him…

His feelings had already deepened, his childish crush on the bossy and brilliant girl he’d met on the train shifting to an adult appreciation for Hermione’s steadfast, honourable character, and a very adult attraction for the beautiful and deeply intelligent woman she had become.

“Earth to Harry,” Frank poked his arm with his wand.

Harry grimaced as he batted him away.  “I was listening!”

“You really weren’t,” Frank said, laughing.  “Your Dad was the same.  Not even Sirius could get James to pay any kind of attention the week he married your mother.”

Harry smiled at the mention of his father.  “Do you think my Dad and Sirius would like her?”

“I think they’d be bowled over by her,” Frank said with blunt honesty.  “Hermione Granger has a lot of class, Harry.  You Potter men unfailingly choose wonderful women.”

Harry smiled his gratitude at the reassurance.  “So, what were you saying when I wasn’t listening?”

Frank grinned.  “I was thanking you for the invitation.  Alice is very much looking forward to the wedding.  I think she’s contacted your mother already with plans for a spa day for the ladies to get primped up.”

Harry waved away the thanks.  He and Hermione had decided to make an exception for the Longbottoms given Frank knew about the arrangement and they didn’t want to put Neville in an awkward spot of attending without his family. 

“We also really appreciate you giving Neville permission to tell us about the wider considerations,” Frank said.  “Nobody will hear anything about any of it from us.”

Harry nodded.

“Anyway, I came by to ask whether you or Hermione need any help with any of the preparations this week?” asked Frank.   

Harry shook his head.  “Everything is in hand, I think.”

Dobby had been put in charge of food which the elf was thrilled about.  Neville had agreed to sort flowers.  Padme and Luna had confirmed they would handle decorating the small ballroom at Black Keep where the wedding would be held.  His mother had opted for organising the wedding party outfits, except for Harry’s own which he was organising with his tailor, and the wedding dress which Hermione had in hand with her own parents.  Minerva had agreed to act as an officiant and his Grandpa had taken on sorting the legalities.

Harry had also arranged a short break for himself and Hermione.  He hoped they’d use it as a honeymoon, but if Hermione wasn’t ready for that, it would serve as a break away to get to know each other better.

“Frank,” Harry said, “while I have you here, can you tell me anything about the investigation into the chocolate potioning?  Hermione said her initial incident’s report is missing?”

Frank sent him a chiding look.  “I can’t talk about an ongoing investigation, you know that, Harry.”

Harry scrunched up his nose and sighed.  “Is there anything you can tell me?  The whole report going missing sounds suspect to me.”

“And to the Aurors whose job it is to investigate,” Frank said sternly. 

Harry held Frank’s gaze beseechingly for a long moment.

Frank sighed.  “We do think it’s odd, and that’s all I’ll say.”  He got to his feet.  “The other thing I’ll say is that the chances of us finding whoever sent her the chocolates is pretty slim.”

Harry grimaced and nodded.  “I’m just worried.”

Frank patted his shoulder.  “I will say there was nothing unusual in the mix.  It was completely bad luck that Gerald decided to help himself to one.”

There was a sharp knock on the open door and his secretary Penelope Clearwater stepped in with an apologetic wince.

“Sorry, Lord Potter, but I thought you’d want to see this straight away,” she said.  She handed him the newspaper.  “It’s a Special Edition, released at noon.”

The Daily Prophet.  He sighed as he took in the headline.

‘Dark Lord Defeater In Shot Wand Wedding to Muggleborn Witch!’

The byline was Rita Skeeter.

“If I call Skeeter a Dark Lady, do you think I’d get away with murdering her?” Harry wondered out loud.

“No,” Frank said, “but I’d help you hide the body.” He pointed at Penelope.  “You didn’t hear that.”

“Hear what, Lord Longbottom?” Penelope said brightly.  “Personally, I’m all for throwing her in a Nundu pit.”

“Dead or alive?” asked Frank.

“Either, or,” Penelope shrugged.  “Are we issuing a denial or…”

A throat cleared in the open doorway bringing their attention to a hovering Hermione.

Harry immediately crossed to her and led her inside.  He closed the door and activated the privacy ward.  “I take it you heard?” 

He was vaguely aware of Penelope’s surprise, but ignored it in favour of providing Hermione with a supportive arm as he sat her down in the visitor’s chair Frank had vacated.

“Miss Gatsby brought it to my attention when it landed in the office just now,” Hermione said.  “She gave me leave to come and speak to you about it.”  She motioned at the paper.  “That Skeeter woman is just a horrible waste of space!”

Penelope nodded enthusiastically.  “We were just debating whether to throw her into the Nundu pit dead or alive.”

“Oh, my vote goes for alive,” Hermione said.  “But I’d rather settle for ruining her entire life first by suing the pants off the Prophet.”

“It’s a worthy goal,” Harry said.

“We should add it to the to-do list,” Hermione smirked at him.

It reassured him that she wasn’t too shaken by the headline.

“In the meantime,” Hermione continued, “what are we going to do?”

“I’d advise a short statement announcing your arrangement and denying the Prophet’s claims succinctly,” Frank said with calm assurance. 

“We can provide the correction of Lady Granger’s noble line too,” Penelope said.  “Honestly, calling you a muggleborn when you were able to claim the Dagworth-Granger estate is her being a petty bitch.”

“I don’t mind the muggleborn, I still think of myself as muggleborn really,” Hermione said firmly, “it’s the suggestion that the only reason we are getting married is because I’m knocked up that makes me angry!”

“Short statement refuting that claim and announcing we have agreed a marital contract at my request then,” Harry said.  He resisted the urge to scowl.  “If we state that it’s close family and friends only at the wedding that should allay some family members from demanding where their invite is.”

Penelope snorted.  Harry knew she’d had too much interaction with the Malfoys to think they’d accept such a statement.  He mentally prepared himself for a visit from Draco, or worse, Narcissa.

“How did she even find out we’re getting married?” wondered Hermione.

“I don’t know,” Harry said.  “Dumbledore discovered something about her during the Triwizard tournament because he used it to keep her compliant in her coverage after her piece on Hagrid.”

“We should find out what he knew,” Hermione said.

They looked at each other in perfect understanding.

“To-do list!” They both declared.

Penelope smirked at them.  “I’ll get the statement out.  You should both go have a very visible lunch on the Alley.”

Harry liked that idea.  “Are you up for it?”

“Let’s,” Hermione declared.  “I’ll go grab my things and meet you in the Atrium.” 

Harry grinned at her as she sprang up and hurried out.

Penelope followed in her wake.

Frank sighed.  “I’m going to go assign a couple more Aurors to patrol the Alley.”  He tipped his head at Harry as he walked out.

Harry summoned his suit jacket from the back of his chair and shrugged into it, adjusting his cuffs.  He quickly checked his appearance in the mirror by the door.  His suit was perfect, he’d pulled the cravat from his throat earlier that morning, but the open-necked shirt worked for him.  He frowned at his hair.

“Nothing you can do about that mop of yours, deary,” the mirror informed him.  “But I do like your suit.”

Harry thanked it absently and headed out, nodding a brief acknowledgement to Penelope who was already multiplying the finished statement ready to send out. 

Harry entered the Atrium at a reasonable pace.  It would take Hermione a little longer to gather her things.  He was suddenly all too aware of the gossip as he caught a few stares on his way to wait by the lifts. He glanced at his watch and…a flock of messages shot by him on their way to the media outlets.  He recognised the faint feel of Penelope’s magic.

The lift opened and Hermione stepped out, dressed warmly in a blue wool coat.

Harry offered her his arm and was pleased when she slid her hand into the crook of his elbow.

“I was thinking fish and chips at the Leaky?” Hermione said breezily.

“Sounds good to me,” Harry agreed.  He pulled her closer and apparated them out of the Ministry and into the Alley.

They made their way to the Leaky ignoring anybody who stopped to stare at them.

Tom greeted them as they entered the pub and made their way through the chattering tables to the bar.

“Harry!” Tom said laughing.  “Good to see you, lad!  And you too, Lady Granger.  They’ve just announced your statement on the wireless as breaking news!  Congratulations to you both.”  He nodded at them both.

“Thanks, Tom,” Harry said, “two fish and chips, please.  What would you like to drink, Hermione?”

“I’ll have one of your lemonades, Tom, please,” Hermione said.  “And please just call me Hermione.”

“Right you are, lass,” Tom replied.  “Usual black coffee for you, Harry?”

“Please,” Harry said.

“I’ll bring the drinks over,” Tom said, pointing to a small table in the corner. 

Harry pulled out a chair for Hermione before he sat down. 

“How’s it going without Mister Otterson?” he asked as he cast a privacy bubble for them.  Being out in public to thumb their noses at Rita was one thing, but he didn’t want to broadcast their conversation.

Hermione smiled, a touch ruefully. “Efficiently.  Miss Gatsby is very organised.”  She leaned over.  “Actually, since we’re here, there are a few points on some legislation about dragons that I’d like to get your opinion on.”

It was a wonderful lunch in Harry’s opinion.  The arrival of their drinks was swiftly followed by plates filled with battered cod and freshly fried hand-cut chips.  They both drenched them in salt and vinegar.

They’d cleared their plates and were lingering over the last dregs of their drinks, Harry deep in the middle of explaining why he thought they should be creating a dragon’s sanctuary in Wales, when they were interrupted by a throat clearing just at the edge of their bubble.

Ginny Weasley stood there with a copy of the Prophet.

“We should probably find out what she wants,” Hermione said quietly.

“Or we could portkey her to the Nundu pit,” Harry muttered.

Hermione smiled at him.  “Dead or alive?”

“Either, or,” Harry retorted as he tapped his wand.

The bubble dispersed with a little shimmy of gold magic.

“Miss Weasley,” Harry greeted her tersely.  “How may my fiancé and I help you?”

Weasley’s face went red then white then red.  He was beginning to get a little concerned for the witch when she tossed her long red hair over her shoulder and cleared her throat.

“I’d like to speak in private, Lord Potter,” Weasley shot Hermione a furious glare before turning her body in such a way to dismiss her presence entirely, “I believe there are things about your fiancé that you may need to know before you commit to marrying her.”

Harry stared at her, confounded by her inappropriate and rude behaviour.  “There is nothing about Lady Granger that you could possibly say which would change my opinion that she will be a boon to my magical Houses either in private or in public.”  He held up his hand.  “Moreover, it is entirely inappropriate for you to approach us this way.”

Weasley flushed red again.  “The baby may not even be yours!”

Harry darted a look of complete bewilderment at Hermione because he couldn’t believe that Weasley had actually said it.

Hermione rolled her eyes.  “Ginny,” she said smartly, garnering Weasley’s attention, “you clearly missed our joint statement declaring that the Prophet is a load of nonsense and that we are entering an arrangement to ensure the future of both of our magical lines.”

Weasley frowned at her before turning back to Harry.  “If you are in need of a witch for an arrangement, my mother would be happy to speak with you to arrange a contract between us.”

“And that, Miss Weasley, is very inappropriate!” Harry snapped out. 

“And you do realise since Arthur passed that Bill is the Head of your House not your mother?” Hermione added. 

The quiet remonstration had Weasley going white as the ramifications of the public disrespect she had just given her older brother suddenly occurred to her. 

Tom suddenly appeared beside Weasley.  “I’m going to have to ask you to leave, lass.”

Weasley spun on her heel and marched out with a huff.

“Thanks, Tom,” Harry said, relieved to be rid of the witch.  “Put the meal on my tab, will you?”

“Of course,” Tom headed back to the bar.

“We should be heading back,” Hermione said, doing a tell-time spell.  “Miss Gatsby was very understanding but I shouldn’t just leave her alone to deal with all the work.”

Harry helped her back into her coat.

They had just stepped into the Alley when Harry caught the flash of sickly familiar green magic from the corner of his eye and…

“Spell fire! Take cover!” He yelled even as he turned to shield Hermione, wandlessly conjuring a slab of rock in front of them.

The Avada Kedavra hit the rock which splintered with a boom.  The debris fell against the magical solid shield Hermione had thrown up a split-second behind Harry’s rock.

For a second there was silence.

And then screams filled the air.

There was a chaos of movement around them as people started running away.

Harry checked on Hermione, keeping his arm around her protectively as they rose slowly to meet the Aurors who were running towards them.

She was pale; her mouth set in a grim line.  He realised belatedly that her gaze was running over him, checking on him and making sure he was alright in return. 

Harry’s admiration for her went up another notch at her composure because there was no doubt in his mind that someone had just tried to kill her.

o-O-o

If there was one person Harry had never been able to deceive, it was Lady Lily Potter, the Dowager Countess of Gryffindor.

His mother’s green eyes pinned him over the breakfast table at Griffin Cottage. 

Cottage was a little bit of a misnomer given the property was in essence a small castle, complete with moat.  It was located on the South Coast of Wales, not far from the original site of Gryffindor Keep at Caerleon.  They’d moved in when Harry was five after the cottage had undergone a refurbishment and security upgrade.

The breakfast room was a sunny yellow room with large windows providing a calming sea view.  It was one of Harry’s favourite places in the world, filled with many childhood memories.  He always felt like the room resonated with his mother’s love and care for him.

Harry pushed his egg around his plate and contemplated how to answer his mother’s seemingly uncomplicated enquiry about how he was faring.

“I’m frustrated,” Harry admitted, finally pushing his plate away.  “The DMLE isn’t any closer to discovering who tried to kill Hermione than they were immediately after it happened.”

They had questioned Ginny Weasley on the evening of the attempt, but she had taken Veritaserum under orders from Bill when she had been questioned and had been cleared; she had apparently apparated back to The Burrow to complain to her mother once Tom had thrown her out of the Leaky.  According to Frank, she had admitted that she would have celebrated Hermione’s death which to Harry’s mind was very ugly.

Hermione had shrugged off the whole idea of it being Ginny with the matter-of-fact statement that the youngest Weasley had never liked her.

“Your frustration is not a surprise, darling,” his mother said gently, breaking into his thought wallowing, “and it’s understandable.  I know how deeply frustrating it is not knowing how you can protect someone.”

Especially when they were very independent and used to protecting themselves, Harry considered wryly, remembering how often his mother and he had fought during his teenage years. 

At least Hermione had agreed to move into Grimmauld Place.

They’d already established in working out the finer details of their arrangement over margheritas that they’d live in the London townhouse once they had married, with Hermione’s flat kept as an investment.  Moving into Grimmauld a week earlier than planned had made sense given it had lethal security wards which Hermione conceded were needed in the wake of the attempt to kill her.

Living with her for the past couple of days was its own special kind of torture, Harry mused, but he wouldn’t change it.

“It’s especially difficult being unable to protect someone you love,” his mother commented.

Harry’s gaze snapped to hers across the table.

“You Potter men always fall far and fast,” his mother said dryly.  “I’ve seen you tumble down a whole canyon since she invited you to afternoon tea.”

“Do you…” Harry paused, unsure how he wanted to frame the question. Did his mother approve?  Did she like Hermione?

His mother smiled at him warmly.  “She’s lovely, Harry.”

Relief buzzed through him at her words.

“You should tell her you love her,” his mother advised.

“She’s not ready to hear that yet,” Harry said, not even bothering to deny it.  He picked up his tea and sipping it as though it could give him solace.

“Us intellectual types take a little bit longer to process and acknowledge what we feel,” his mother said, “but I would bet my jewellery that she’s head over heels for you too.  And frankly I think being told you love her will be immensely reassuring to her, Harry.”  Her expression dimmed.  “You never know how much time you get with one another.  Don’t waste it making things more complicated than they need to be.”

Harry nodded.  He knew his mother had never really moved on after losing his father.  He hoped she’d find some additional romantic happiness in her life though.  At one point he’d thought an old family friend of theirs would be a potential step-father when he’d reappeared in their lives, but Remus Lupin always disappeared as quickly as he appeared.  They hadn’t seen him since the final battle with Voldemort.

Tuppy, his mother’s elf, popped in beside her.  “There being a wizard at the Floo asking for entry to speak to Lord Harry, Lady Lily.”

Harry frowned.

“Did he give a name, Tuppy?” his mother asked patiently.

“Mister William Weasley,” Tuppy replied.

His mother looked over at him.  “Do you want to talk with Bill?”

Harry hoped it wasn’t something to do with Ginny because he was all the way done with anything to do with her.   He grimaced and gave in to the politeness his mother had ingrained in him.  “I’ll meet with him.”

“Bring him through,” his mother said, placing her napkin on the table and standing.

Harry did the same, walking around the table to stand next to his mother.

Bill walked in dressed simply in a dragonhide blazer, t-shirt and black denim jeans.  He had always looked the epitome of cool to Harry.

Harry shook hands with Bill and tried not to feel self-conscious about his boring grey pinstripe trousers, white shirt, and waistcoat.

“My apologies for disturbing your breakfast,” Bill said.

“We’ve just finished, but I can have Tuppy bring you a plate…” his mother began.

Bill shook his head.  His long red hair was tied up in a bun and it didn’t move.  “Thank you, Lady Lily, I’ve already eaten.  I have something important to discuss with you, Harry, but I didn’t want to risk meeting with you at the Ministry and someone overhearing.”

Harry nodded in understanding.  He pointed them back at the table which Tuppy had cleared away while they were greeting each other.  “Let’s sit.”  He waited until they were all seated again before he invited Bill to speak.

Just as their guest opened his mouth, Harry’s mother suddenly whipped out her wand and stunned a bug that was crawling on Bill’s shirt.  She conjured a box with breathing holes, put the bug inside and tapped the box with her hand.

“Study!”  She ordered and the box popped away.

Harry wasn’t surprised.  His mother generally tried to save the spiders, flies, and other random bugs.

His mother took in Bill’s surprised expression and smiled.  “It’s an unusual bug which attached itself to you, Bill. I’ll deal with it after this.”

“Thank you,” Bill sighed.  He looked immensely tired as he turned back to Harry.  “Firstly, congratulations on your engagement to Lady Granger, Harry.”

Harry nodded cautiously.  “But?”

Bill grimaced.  “It’s not your fault but your engagement seems to have sent my family nuts!”  He gestured across the table.  “Well, not Charlie and the twins, but honestly the rest of them seem to be unnaturally invested in something which is clearly none of their business, especially after what happened in the Alley!”

“I’m sure it was difficult for your mother and brothers to accept Ginny as a suspect,” his mother offered kindly, if guardedly.  “Maybe that has just amplified everything.”

“Maybe, but she brought that on herself with her behaviour at the Leaky,” Bill gestured at Harry.  “I heard about it from four different people before she was questioned.  Anyway, Fleur and I got tired of the constant harping and called a Family meeting to get to the bottom of why they were all…” he waved his hand by his head rather than say the word ‘crazy.’

“And I’m guessing the results are why you’re sat here,” Harry said, tugging at his waistcoat.

“Yes,” Bill sighed.  “Ginny’s been committed to a curse healing clinic in Dorset.  When I hit her with a Revelare spell, it showed deep curse and possession scarring on her magical core and mind.”

“The diary,” Harry surmised, closing his eyes briefly.

“Yes,” Bill nodded.  “According to our Account Manager, the Earl of Blackmoor apparently forced Malfoy into settling a substantive amount of money to help with her healing, and my father did send her to a Spell Damage specialist, but my mother pulled her out after a couple of sessions saying it was a waste of money.  Apparently, she gave the settlement to Dumbledore to fund the Order.  Luckily Dad’s insurance will cover everything now.”

“Well, at least she’s finally getting the treatment she needs,” his mother murmured, a trace of horror at Molly’s action threading through the words.

Bill sighed.  “That whole discussion brought to light that Dumbledore was kind of plotting with my mother about you and your future, Harry, before you went to Hogwarts.  It was all crazy, but my parents would somehow step in, Ron was meant to become your best friend, Ginny would be your future wife…he set up some expectations with his talk that apparently they took seriously,” he shrugged helplessly.  “Of course, it all didn’t transpire that way.  Why Dumbledore thought my family was ever going to just replace your own mother or your Grandpa…I don’t know what he was thinking.”

His mother snorted her disgust at Dumbledore’s meddling.

“He was thinking he wanted control of me because of Voldemort,” Harry said tersely.  He ran a hand through his hair.  “The old goat just couldn’t help himself from interfering.”

“Well, his machinations have left some issues behind with my mother, Ron and Ginny in particular,” Bill said.  “My mother did admit that despite Dumbledore’s wishes she never thought she would be able to replace you, Lady Lily, especially when it was evident Harry was being brought up to be, in her words, ‘a lovely young man,’ but she really didn’t understand why Harry wouldn’t give her two babies the time of day.”  He gestured.  “Or rather she didn’t until last night when Ginny’s curse damage was revealed and Ron bluntly confessed just how much he resents you for not choosing him over Neville, for being rich, for being Earl of Gryffindor, for being a great Seeker – the list was endless.” 

Harry nodded.  None of it was news to him.  Ron Weasley had always resented him and had been unable to hide it much of their time at Hogwarts.  

“That segued into how much he resents us, his brothers.  Ron’s going to go live with Charlie for a while since he resents him the least,” Bill said, weariness scouring his tone.  “He’ll get some mind-healing.  I’ve told Mum that she should get some too.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that, Bill,” Harry said sincerely.  “I hope everyone gets the healing they need.”  He still couldn’t quite understand why Bill needed to talk to him about it though.  He guessed he was peripherally involved but…

“Unfortunately, Mum, Ron and Ginny aren’t the end of it,” Bill said, rubbing his forehead as though he had a headache.  He took a deep breath and met Harry’s gaze across the table.  “Percy admitted that he was the one who tried to potion Hermione.”

Harry was stunned.  “Really?  Percy?”

Bill grimaced.  “Percy found out Hermione is the heir apparent to the Pendragon legacy, Harry.”

Harry froze in horror that Percy knew; that Bill knew; that it had all come out at a Weasley Family meeting.

“He said that he looked up the Pendragon genealogy and the legacy rules on a whim when he took over Archives and Records,” Bill continued.  “He claims he didn’t intend to act on the information, but then he got the notification through that Hermione had passed her magical maturity and as he knew she would need to marry someone in order to claim the legacy, he decided to offer himself up as a candidate.”

“By potioning her,” Harry stated, unimpressed.

“He claims it was just so she would give him an initial chance and once he’d secured her romantic interest, he’d had no intention of continuing to potion her,” Bill explained.  He motioned at Harry.  “Percy did ask to tell me alone so only I know about the Pendragon part and I swore him to secrecy.”

Relief swept through Harry, even though he was still unimpressed at Percy’s excuses.

“I turned him over to the DMLE and Lord Longbottom personally before I came here,” Bill informed him.  “He’ll confess to it all including how he destroyed a report about the chocolates he sent her at Christmas because he panicked after Otterson ended up in hospital from the second lot.”  He took another deep breath.  “He swears blind that he didn’t know Otterson had a thing for strawberry creams or was allergic, and he will swear on his magic that it wasn’t him in the Alley trying to kill her.”

“Merlin,” his mother murmured.  “He’ll certainly lose his job even if that’s all true.”

Bill nodded.  “I know, and we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”  He rubbed his head again.  “I’m prepared to take a vow on my magic not to tell anyone about the Pendragon part, I assume you’re all keeping it quiet to protect Hermione.”

Harry leaned forward.  “I’m not the really person you should be asking for a vow about the House of Pendragon, Bill.”

Bill smiled grimly.  “I know, but I can’t find where Hermione is; I figured you were best chance of contacting her, and as I needed to tell you about all the rest of it…”

Harry checked the time.  “I’ll contact Hermione and we’ll meet you this evening to discuss the vow.  I’ll send details on where and when once we’ve sorted it.”

“Thank you,” Bill got to his feet.  “I’d best get back to the DMLE.  Lord Longbottom said they’d wait on my return to question, Percy.”

Harry rose from the table and held up a hand.  “Thank you, Bill.  I appreciate you coming to tell us all this in person, and for all the actions you’ve taken to address matters.”

Bill nodded briskly.  “I want to dig Dumbledore’s arse up and strangle him, but my family has to take some responsibility for everything that’s happened.” He paused.  “I should take some responsibility for not doing a Family meeting after Dad died and letting Mum run things like usual.”

“You were grieving,” Harry said.  “Give yourself a break, Bill.”

Bill didn’t look convinced even as he nodded.

“I’ll see you out to the Floo,” his mother said, patting his shoulder and keeping a maternal arm around him as she walked him out.

Harry wandered over to the windows to stare out at the view.  One mystery solved, he mused, but the question of who had tried to kill Hermione remained.

o-O-o

Part 5

Hermione didn’t like to admit it, but she appreciated the escort Harry provided every day from Grimmauld Place to the Ministry.  She wondered if he’d still provide it once they were married.  She suspected he would.  It spoke to his care of her and made her feel protected and loved.

Living with him had been a revelation. 

Harry was a deep thinker and his law mastery had given him a unique insight into politics and their legislation.  She loved debating with him over dinner.  Yet, he was also content to curl up with a book in quiet company with her in the sitting room afterwards.  She’d discovered he was a murder mystery nut.  The previous night, once they’d met with Bill Weasley and gotten his vow out of the way, they had discovered a shared a love of classic movies.  At breakfast, Harry had surprised her with tickets for a cinema date at an old theatre which was doing a special showing of Singing in the Rain.

Hermione felt courted.

She was prepared to acknowledge that she was falling very deep in like with him.  It made her heart ache a little at the missed opportunity of their time at Hogwarts. 

Harry hovered as she stowed her coat.  “Where are you meeting Megan for lunch?”

“At her place, Nott’s abroad on some business trip so she’s on her own,” Hermione said briskly.  She smoothed down the Navy dress suit she wore.  “Hopefully she’ll understand why we’re keeping the wedding small and why we didn’t tell them about the arrangement when I explain it to her.”

“Well, if she’s very upset, you know you can always invite her,” Harry said.

Hermione smiled at him.  “If you can hold out over Malfoy’s begging, I can hold the line with Megan.”

He smiled back at her.

“Ahem,” Gatsby said dryly as she strode in.

Hermione blushed, realising she’d just been standing there, foolishly smiling at Harry – and he had been smiling back at her.  That thought arrested her momentarily before she shook it away and sent Gatsby an apologetic look.

“Good morning, Miss Gatsby,” Hermione said primly.

“Yes, good morning, Miss Gatsby,” Harry echoed. 

“Good morning, Lord Potter, Lady Granger,” Gatsby responded briskly.

Harry glanced back at Hermione sheepishly.  “Just send me a Patronus when you’re ready to leave for the day.”

“I will,” Hermione promised.

Harry nodded and after another beat between them, he finally left.

Gatsby coughed and Hermione hurried to her desk to switch on her computer and get the day started.

“May I say once again that you’ve made a very good arrangement there, Lady Granger?” Gatsby offered, adjusting her glasses as she opened the first parchment on the top of her pile of mail.  “Lord Potter is a wonderful match for you.”

“Thank you, Miss Gatsby,” Hermione said warmly, “I feel so too.”

Gatsby made a soft sound and Hermione looked over at her inquisitively.

“Madame Otterson will call in this afternoon to retrieve Mister Otterson’s personal items from his office,” Gatsby informed Hermione with a sour expression.

Hermione grimaced.  She really didn’t want to have to deal with the witch and by Gatsby’s attitude, she didn’t want to deal with her either.

“Well, we shall just have to manage her visit the best we can,” Gatsby said with stoic grimness.  “She will arrive at two.”

“I’ll make sure my schedule is clear to assist,” Hermione said.

Gatsby shot her a grateful look. 

The morning rushed by in a series of meetings.  The trial preparation was taking up much of Hermione’s time, but she loved it.  

Lunch-time arrived before she knew it and she made her way to Megan’s through the private Floo in Bones’ office.

Megan greeted as she always did with a smile and a brief hug.  Hermione always thought privately that Megan had been much like herself; an awkward teen who had grown into a reasonably pretty woman.  Her blonde hair was pinned back into an elegant chignon and her freckles were masked by pristine make-up.  Her glasses were fashionable and stylish, the bright blue colour matching the wool dress she wore under the open matching day robes.      

Hermione was ushered into the dining room where a light lunch of poached salmon and a Waldorf salad had already been set out. 

“Help yourself,” Megan invited her cheerfully.  “You must be hungry after working all morning.”

“Starving,” Hermione admitted, happily piling a slice of salmon and a large pile of the salad on her plate.

Megan served herself.  She reached for a pitcher on the table.  “Homemade lemonade?”

Hermione accepted a glass.

Megan poured herself a drink and raised her glass.  “Firstly, a toast to your engagement!” She smiled warmly at Hermione.  “Congratulations!” 

Hermione thanked her and took a sip of the lemonade to complete the toast with Megan.  It was refreshing even if it had a slightly bitter aftertaste.

Megan picked up her cutlery.  “I admit that I’m very surprised that you decided to do something so traditional.  If we had known that you were looking for an arrangement, we would have helped you.”

Hermione smiled at Megan.  “I wasn’t really looking.  I invited Harry for a discussion about a problem, and afterwards he invited me to dinner and suggested the arrangement.”

“Ah, yes,” Megan said, “the Prophet said it was Lord Potter who had made the request after they printed the pregnancy retraction.  Is it really true that Lily Potter captured Rita Skeeter hiding as a bug?” 

“True,” Hermione said with a laugh.  She recounted the tale with glee.  “Harry’s delighted.  She wasn’t very kind to him when we were at Hogwarts.”

Megan’s gaze turned speculative.  “We all wondered why the two of you never got together at Hogwarts.  It was pretty common knowledge that he liked you.”

“Well, I listened to Ginny Weasley and made a stupid decision to refuse his invitation to Hogsmeade,” Hermione explained.  She went on to tell Megan the whole story.  Somehow it seemed easier to tell it.  Maybe her and Harry clearing the air had helped.

Megan pushed her empty plate away.  Her hostess had hardly eaten anything, Hermione thought guiltily looking down at her own still full plate of food.  She drank down the rest of the lemonade, thirsty from all the talking.

“I’d heard Ginny Weasley was questioned about the attack on you in the Alley,” Megan said, frowning.

Hermione shrugged.  “It wasn’t her.”

“Do they know who it was?” Megan asked, adjusting her cutlery fussily.

Hermione shook her head.  Her vision swam a touch.  “No…”

She suddenly did not feel well at all.  She looked over at Megan who was looking back at her with a strange expression.

“Megan?” asked Hermione shakily.  “I don’t feel so good.”

“That would be the Knockout potion I painted the inside of your glass with,” Megan informed her in a conversational tone as though she was commenting on the weather.

Hermione’s eyes went wide as she realised her precarious position.  Her vision dimmed.  She fought to keep consciousness.  She fumbled for her wand as she pushed back from the table, the chair overturning in her haste, but she couldn’t move, she couldn’t…

She tumbled to the floor.

The last thing she saw as her world went dark was Megan’s smiling face above her.

o-O-o

Hermione jerked back into consciousness with a gasping breath.

In many ways she was surprised she was still alive.

She still couldn’t believe that Megan had potioned her.

Megan.

She had thought she had a good relationship with her many times removed cousin; that they’d built something of a familial bond.

Hermione felt her breath catch on a sob.  She closed her eyes briefly and forced herself to take one trembling breath after another until she was calm.

She opened her eyes and took stock of her position.

She had clearly been transported to another location since she was in what appeared to be the back room of some kind of small house. It had maybe been a dining room at some point as there was a table pushed to a back wall and Hermione was tied to a wooden dining chair.  A glance at the window confirmed that day had turned into evening.

Disturbingly she was dressed in a simple witch’s day robe, buttoned up to cover her, and thankfully she still had her undergarments.  Her jaw tensed as she considered why she had been stripped.

If it had been to keep her vulnerable, leaving her completely without clothes would have been better, although Hermione felt exposed nonetheless.  The room was cold so presumably Megan didn’t want her to freeze to death. 

Other reasons Megan might have taken her clothes, Hermione mused, forcing herself to consider the problem rationally. 

Megan would need to throw people off the scent of suspecting her being involved in Hermione going missing.  Megan could plant the clothes somewhere or…or she could have worn them if she’d Polyjuiced herself to be Hermione.

Damn it.

If Megan had convinced people that Hermione had left Nott Manor and returned to the Ministry, she might assume that it would be hours before Hermione was considered missing.

Gatsby would know, Hermione assured herself.  Gatsby was an attentive supervisor in a way that Otterson never had been.  While she didn’t micromanage, Gatsby made a point of knowing Hermione’s schedule and Gatsby would wonder why Hermione hadn’t shown for Madame Otterson’s visit.

Hermione breathed in deeply and tested her ropes.  She was solidly tied.  She closed her eyes and tried to magically sense her wand.

It wasn’t close.

If Megan had pretended to be her then it was likely she’d taken it with her. 

Hermione’s lips pressed together at the idea of someone else using her wand.  It was a violation of her magic. 

What Megan didn’t know was that Hermione had undergone her maturity, Hermione thought determinedly.  She didn’t know that Hermione was capable of simple wandless magic like…

There was a loud pop of apparition.

Megan appeared in front of her, thankfully not wearing Hermione’s clothes, but bizarrely she was also tightly holding onto what looked like a laundry bag and an unconscious Percy Weasley who had been bound with rope.

Hermione blinked because that was a complication that she was not expecting.

“Oh,” Megan said with heavy disappointment, “you’re awake.” 

She put a bag down on the floor and withdrew her wand.  She waved Percy into a second chair and bound him tightly to it.

“Megan,” Hermione said.  She winced at the dryness of her mouth and swallowed a couple of times to alleviate the raspy tone.  “What is going on?  Why are you doing this?”

Megan glanced across to her with such a scathing look of disgust that Hermione shivered.  “I’m sure you’re smart enough to figure it out, cousin.”

Hermione shifted trying to get a better position for her hands.  “Is this about the Dagworth-Granger estate?” There was an incredulous edge to her voice she couldn’t quite help.

Megan whirled around and pointed her wand at Hermione, patches of red fury showing through the elegant make-up on her face.  “You!  Do you have any idea of how long my family scrimped and bowed down to our magical relatives?!  Made themselves useful to them as bloody servants!  Just waiting on the edges so that we could take our rightful place?!”

Hermione was irritated by that charge.  “It is not your rightful place!  You descend from the youngest son of the line!”

“Our great-great grandfather was the most powerful wizard in the family!  He should have been Lord Dagworth-Granger, instead he had to watch as his weak-willed older brother took up the Lordship and almost ran the estate into the ground!”  Megan raged. “Thankfully he killed him before he actually did!”

Hermione shivered again and it wasn’t from the cold of the room.

“And then, year after year of waiting!” Megan snatched up the bag from the floor.  “But thankfully my family stayed in the magical world!  They worked with our cousins to make sure the estate recovered, even when the Death Eaters did us the favour of killing the rest of them, it was my family who made sure the businesses operated!  We were the ones who worked to keep everything going!  We deserved the title and the money!”

Megan paused, chest heaving.  She took a deep breath and looked over at Hermione, dislike painted all over her pinched features.

“Your family deserted the magical world, yet you swanned in and claimed everything like you have a right to it!”  Megan snarled.  “You invalidated my arrangement with Theo!  He could have thrown me and my children out onto the streets because you decided you would claim my title!”

Hermione figured it was going to be worthless to argue with her about the actual line of inheritance.  “I didn’t realise you and Theo were arranged,” she said mildly, trying to keep her talking.

It was evening.  Harry would have worked out she was missing.  Gatsby would have worked out she was missing.  The Aurors would be looking for her.

And she didn’t have to wait.  If Megan turned her back on Hermione, she could get free and then…she really had no idea but she was confident that she was the better witch than Megan.  Hopefully she could subdue her somehow.

“Daddy approached Alfred Nott as soon as I was born,” Megan snapped. 

Which put another horrifying slant on why Death Eaters had targeted the main line, Hermione thought grimly.  Perhaps Nott’s father had suggested the target, opening the way for his son’s future wife to claim everything.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get a choice,” Hermione said honestly.

“I have always known my duty!” Megan shot back. 

Hermione figured that was the problem.  Years of being brainwashed and conditioned into believing she had a destiny.  She could well believe Megan was very damaged. 

Megan had masked her crazy well, Hermione thought wearily.  She had thought she’d found family and she had tried to do right by them.  Yet, she couldn’t deny that it must have been horrifying for Megan when Hermione had been revealed by the goblins to have a greater claim because of the order of inheritance.

“Be sorry instead that you took what was rightfully mine!” Megan continued as though she had read Hermione’s mind.  “You didn’t even know about the estate, you didn’t care about it!  You could have refused it and abdicated your rights!  But no!  You just took everything!  I wanted to kill you then, but Daddy told me to wait!  To choose the right time when nobody would suspect!  But then you just had to get yourself arranged!”

Megan’s body heaved with her roiling emotions.  She strode away to the table and dumped the contents of the bag out.

Her wand!

Hermione felt its presence immediately.  Right, she thought grimly, if she could get herself free and summon her wand…she would have the upper hand.

“If it wasn’t common knowledge that Potter’s had a hard-on for you since school, I’d be furious that you got arranged to him because of my title too!” Megan stormed.  “You get the hero!  The Earl of Gryffindor who saved us all from that stupid noseless bastard, and who do I get?  Disgraced and pathetic Theo!”

“But I thought you were happy together!” Hermione blurted out.    

“I’ve been potioning him for years!” Megan sneered.  “He doesn’t even realise our boys were conceived with spells!”  She shook her head.  “Pathetic.”

Hermione watched as Megan sorted the items on the table and picked up Percy’s wand. 

“Did you try to kill me on the Alley?” asked Hermione, trying to keep Megan talking as she sensed she was running out of time.

Megan huffed.  “The Prophet said you were pregnant!  I was done waiting!  If you had a brat, any chance I would get my title would be over!  But you just couldn’t die!”

“Harry saved my life,” Hermione said quietly.  “What’s this plan?”

“Daddy told me before he died that I should make it look like an accident, but that broom has already flown,” Megan said tersely.  “Everyone is looking for your potential murderer so I will oblige them and give them one.”

She pointed the wand at Percy.

“It would have been better with that Weasley bitch, but Theo told me yesterday that it was all over the Ministry that this moron had confessed to sending you potioned chocolates and destroying evidence!”

“How did you capture him?” Hermione was feeling foolish about how easily Megan had captured her.  She wiggled her fingers and the ropes loosened.

“Sent him a note from you asking to meet to discuss the whole chocolates thing,” Megan smirked.  “Like reeling a fish in a barrel!”

“Wasn’t he surprised to see me?” Hermione asked dryly.  “Or were you Polyjuiced as me when you met?”

Megan grinned.  “You really are smart.  I Polyjuiced as you to go back to the Ministry, said hello to that dried up prune Bones.” She shrugged.  “I ducked into a bathroom, changed my hair colour and walked back out through the public Floo in the Atrium.  You’d think after Voldemort tried to invade it, they would have improved security.”

Hermione nodded, taking note of the slightly manic satisfaction in Megan’s eyes.

“Of course, that bat you work with noticed you didn’t return from lunch so I got a Floo call from the Aurors much earlier than I’d hoped, and then another from the lovely Potter,” Megan shook her head, “he really sounded frantic about you.  But,” she shrugged and poked the insensate Percy with his own wand.  “This one must have had his head buried under a pillow all day because he toddled right into meeting me without even one clue something was amiss!”

Percy suddenly jerked upright with a gasp.

Megan flinched, jumping backwards and…

Hermione breathed in and focused on getting free.  The ropes fell away from her and she sprang to her feet, summoning her wand from the table.

Megan gave an inarticulate scream.  “AVADA KEDAVRA!”

Hermione yanked the table magically in front of her as she ducked instinctively.

The table splintered with a boom.

Hermione magically threw the pieces back at Megan who shrieked and tried to get a shield up…

But it wasn’t Megan’s own wand, it was Percy’s and the shield stuttered and disintegrated as soon as the first splinter hit it.  It speared Megan through her shoulder sending her to the floor…

Hermione stunned her before Megan could move.  Hermione took a gasping breath, shaky with adrenaline and stiff from being tied up in the cold room.

Percy tried to speak but the gag muffled his words.  She stripped it off him with a slash of her wand. 

“I’m wearing a muggle tracker in my shoe!” Percy said urgently.  “The Aurors should be here any moment!”

A boom shook the house.

Ward disruptor, Hermione surmised.

A split second later, a group of Aurors apparated into the room led by Lord Longbottom.

Hermione lowered her wand, ignoring how her hand shook.  She was peripherally aware of Percy sagging with relief into his still bound ropes.

Longbottom raised his eyebrows at the tableau.  He raised a hand to his radio.  “All clear, Ellerton, tell Harry he can…”

Suddenly Harry was there, in front of her, his beautiful green eyes frantic with worry and his hair sticking up even more wildly than usual.  He was solid and real and reaching out to her…

Hermione gave a small sob and without any thought threw herself at him.

Harry caught her, wrapped her up in a hug.  She felt instantly safe.  “It’s over, Hermione.  You’re safe.  It’s all over.”

Hermione nodded, holding on just as tightly to him as he was holding onto her.  “I know we have tickets to the movies, but I think I’d just like to go home now, Harry.”

o-O-o

“You look so beautiful,” her mother murmured.

Hermione caught her mother’s eyes in the mirror and smiled at her. 

She did look good, Hermione thought with satisfaction. 

Her wedding dress was a satin gown with a tight bodice with a sweetheart neckline, overlayed with a delicate lace topcoat with a v-neck collar, long sleeves and tiny buttons all the way from her bosom to the floor.  Her veil was a matching sweep of lace down her back to form a small train; it was held to her head by a silver and diamond tiara of fiercely snarling dragons from the Pendragon vault which Pikstaff had decreed she could borrow.  She’d worn her hair up in a loose chignon and left tendrils of her caramel hair to frame her face.  Her make-up was natural.

Her father walked up behind her.  His eyes shone with tears.  “Look at you.  Our little girl, all grown up and looking like a Queen.”

Hermione turned around and they all caught each other in a perfect hug.

Her mother disengaged first, dabbing at her wet eyes with a handkerchief before Hermione whisked away the evidence of crying with her wand and repaired their make-up with magic.

“Are you sure you want to go ahead today?” asked her father seriously.  He looked very dapper in a smart morning suit.  “It’s barely been forty-eight hours since you were kidnapped.”

“I refuse to let that witch ruin my plans, Dad,” Hermione said firmly.  She’d had a full bill of health from the Healer that Harry had brought to Grimmauld to check her over.  She’d had some minor rope burn, a few bruises, but nothing serious. 

“I agree,” her mother said, smoothing down the pale gold of the smart dress she had picked out as Mother of the Bride. “Let’s put Megan Nott out of our minds for today.  She’s remanded to a secure ward and that’s the best place for her.”

Hermione nodded.  Theo had hurried back from Italy and had been furious to learn of his wife’s potioning of him.  The boys’ godfather Blaise Zabini had stepped in to look after them while Theo went through potion purging at a private clinic.  A part of her thought she should have offered to take them, but she couldn’t bring herself to be that charitable.  Besides, Blaise was better known to the twins and had a close relationship with them while Hermione had only ever seen them occasionally.

Her conscience was clear, Hermione told herself briskly.  Not least because she was going to go ahead with her plan to confer the Dagworth-Granger title to Charles Nott, giving Theo regency once she had her Pendragon inheritance. 

She bit her lip. 

If there was one thing which had stuck with her in the aftermath of her abduction, it was that in amongst Megan’s ranting, there had been a valid point: Hermione had never considered not accepting the title and estate once it became known to her.

She had been informed about how Megan’s side of the family had stayed in the magical world and helped build the estate she herself had inherited, yet it had never occurred to her to simply and immediately give the title and estate up.  All she had seen had been the opportunity to secure herself a better position in the Ministry to help lay the foundations for her political ambitions until she became eligible to claim her Pendragon title.

It was a sobering lesson to consider all sides before acting, Hermione mused.  In the end she couldn’t regret her decision since it had uncovered the nefarious acts of her distant relatives in their plotting to take the title.

A brisk knock on the door of the bedroom had them all turning to the door. 

Hermione called out for them to enter.

Minerva came in.  She wore deep Gryffindor red dress robes edged with gold.  “I’ve come to collect you, Margaret.”  She smiled at Hermione.  “We’ll be ready for you, Hermione, whenever you are.”

Her mother bussed Hermione’s cheek.  “Take a moment to breathe, darling.”  She walked away with Minerva to take their places leaving Hermione with her father.

Her father smiled at her.  “I take heart that even if you’re getting married to secure your inheritance, Hermione, you are marrying a good man.”

“He really is,” Hermione agreed, ignoring the flutter in her belly at the thought of Harry.  She took a deep breath and put her hand in the crook of her father’s offered arm.

She picked up the pretty bouquet of flowers that Neville had dropped off to her earlier as they passed the side table by the door.

The walk down the sweeping stairs of Black Keep made her heart beat a little faster, especially when she saw Padme and Luna waiting at the bottom beaming up at her.  Padme wore a sari in the same gold fabric as Luna’s more traditional bridesmaid cocktail style dress.  They both fussed with the veil’s train a little, making sure it was perfect.

The two bridesmaids led the way through the house to the open double doors of the ballroom which had been decorated with more flowers.

Hermione walked through and marvelled at the way it had been turned into an indoor garden.  Trees and plants filled the space with birds and butterflies flitting between the branches and leaves.  Floral perfume filled the air and there was actual grass beneath her satin slippers.

A string quartet played Lakmé otherwise known as the Flower Duet by Leo Delibes as her father escorted her through the pathway edged with white roses to the seating area where their few additional guests stood waiting for her.

She smiled at the Longbottoms, Alice giving her two thumbs up and a happy grin that was so reminiscent of Neville that Hermione was charmed by it.  Frank winked at her.

Pikstaff gave an approving nod as she walked by him.  Beside him the Potter and Black elves had gathered in a small line, their ears waggling happily at their inclusion.

Lily gave her a warm smile.  She was dressed in golden dress robes; her long red hair pinned up and decorated with the Gryffindor tiara.  Arcturus was dressed in deep green formal dress robes; he stood beside Lily smiling proudly.

To the other side of the aisle, her mother beamed at her.

And there, at the end of the ballroom waited Harry, Neville at his side as his best man, Minerva poised as the officiant.

Hermione took in Harry’s black morning suit, the waistcoat the deep red of Gryffindor threaded through with gold embroidery depicting lions.  He was wonderfully handsome.  His green eyes sparkled and captured hers.

He looked so happy.

Her heart thudded as her father placed her hand in Harry’s.  He kissed her cheek and stepped back to her mother.

“Dear friends,” Minerva began formally, “we are gathered here to bring together Lord Harold James Potter, Earl of Gryffindor and Viscount Blackmoor, with Lady Hermione Granger of the House of Pendragon.  May their union bring them much happiness together.”

Hermione felt Harry squeeze her hand reassuringly as Minerva wrapped a rope of gold around their hands and invited them to make their marital vows.

“I promise to stand as your husband, ever loyal and faithful, the protector of you and our family.  I will be your comfort, your sword and your shield, from this day forward in this world until our souls pass to our next,” Harry vowed.  His sincerity coated every word.

Hermione squeezed his hand back.  “I promise to stand as your wife, ever loyal and faithful, the protector of you and our family.  I will be your comfort, your sword and your shield, from this day forward in this world until our souls pass to our next.” 

The gold rope glowed briefly.

Minerva tapped it and it disappeared in a showy shower of gold sparkles.

“May the bond which magic has built between you, never be broken,” Minerva declared.  “I believe you have promise rings to exchange?”

Harry turned to Neville who handed him a ring.

They’d picked them out of the Gryffindor vault together; pale bands of Welsh gold inscribed with the words Ever Brave in Welsh.

Hermione watched as Harry slid the ring onto her finger. 

“May this ring be a symbol of our bond,” Harry said softly.

She turned and took the matching one from Padme.  She slid it onto Harry’s finger with a smile.

“May this ring be a symbol of our bond,” she repeated.

They smiled at each other, hands holding onto one another.

Minerva smiled.  “You may share a kiss of celebration.”

Hermione suddenly wished she had kissed Harry before.  He leaned across and kissed her gently.  Her heart seemed to stumble in her chest, tripping over in a rapid thud.  It was the best kiss of her life.

Harry eased back and Hermione smiled at him happily, taking in his quiet joy.

“I present to you, the Earl and Countess of Gryffindor!” Minerva announced.

Everyone broke out into applause and cheers.

Harry grinned at her, his thumb stroking over her knuckles softly. 

For a few moments there was a flurry of hugs and kisses and congratulations which left Hermione breathless.

Pikstaff waited until they were free before he approached them.  “If you are both ready?”

Hermione exchanged a quick look at Harry who nodded.

“Not that you need it, but good luck!” Lily said warmly.  “We’ll have the wedding breakfast ready for when you return.”

There were other echoes of good luck as Pikstaff handed them a length of gold cloth embossed with the Pendragon crest.

“Dragon!” Pikstaff said loudly.

And the portkey whisked them away before Hermione could take a breath.

They landed with a small bump in the middle of what appeared to be a forest clearing.  In the centre, lit up in a shaft of sunlight was the hilt of a sword, its blade embedded in a large slab of grey slate rock, atop a thick circle dais of black granite.

“Merlin!” Harry muttered.

Hermione took a shaky breath.  “It’s actually real!”  She wondered where they were, but she couldn’t tell.

Pikstaff cleared his throat.  “I will stand witness.  Only Lord Potter may step onto the dais.”  He moved away to give them some privacy.

“Hermione,” Harry turned to her, his hand holding hers, his eyes meeting hers squarely, “I want you to know that I meant every promise I’ve made you, but if I fail, I will hold true to our contract and release you from yours.”

“Harry…”

“I also…” Harry moved a touch closer, holding her hand up against his heart.  “After everything that’s happened this week and almost losing you, I just need to tell you that, I need you to know that I love you, Hermione.”

Hermione’s knees went weak, her breath caught in her throat.  She read the truth of his words in his eyes and…

He really did love her.

She bit her lip.

And maybe she loved him, but…

“I’m…I’m not ready to say it yet,” she admitted tentatively, “but…” she held his gaze determinedly, “if you don’t draw the sword, it doesn’t matter.  The legacy doesn’t matter.  We’ll stay married and we’ll have the children we both want to bring into the world, because I can’t imagine a better man than you, a better wizard than you.  If you can’t draw the sword, I don’t know who can.”

Harry ducked his head briefly, before he raised his eyes again to meet hers.  “I don’t know that I’m that good a man, Hermione.” He shook his head, pain creasing his forehead.  “I killed a man, and maybe he was Dark, and it was what Fate needed me to do, but I still took his life.”

“Oh, Harry,” her heart hurt for him.  She cupped his cheek with one hand. “You are a great wizard.  You protected Albion, you protected us, every single witch and wizard that lives.  I really wish I had been with you.  I wish I’d been brave and asked the Hat for Gryffindor and we’d become friends, because then I would have made that journey with you, every step, because it was righteous and needed and you have nothing to regret in any of what you did to stop a monster.”

He pressed his forehead against hers, taking a shaky breath.

Hermione wondered how long he’d held his pain inside of himself at taking Voldemort’s life. She eased back and slowly kissed him.

They parted, hands still held and entwined between them.

Harry looked at her solemnly, before he nodded decisively.  He stepped away only releasing her hands at the last moment as he stepped onto the dais.

Hermione watched as he walked up to the sword.  He cast one last look back towards her and she nodded at him encouragingly.

Harry grasped the sword and…

Hermione held her breath and…

There was a rasp of metal against rock as Harry drew the sword from its stone dwelling.  He held it aloft, wonder and awe written across his face.

Hermione’s hands were pressed up against her racing heart.  Glee and joy stampeding through her.

He’d done it!

Harry stepped down, grinning wildly.  He suddenly knelt on one knee in front of her and held out the hilt of the sword toward her.  His eyes met hers, dancing with happiness.  “My Queen, I believe this is your sword.”

Hermione was giggling as she dropped to her own knees, placed one hand on the hilt of the sword and kissed her husband.

o-O-o

Epilogue: Five Years Later

Hermione smiled as the chime for the Floo signalled Harry’s arrival back from the Wizengamot session.  She knew he’d come and find them so she stayed where she was.

She tickled her daughter’s belly and revelled in the happy giggles from the toddler who had inherited her grandmother’s red hair and green eyes.  She cast a quick look over at where the latest addition to their family, their son, Evan James.

“Hey,” Harry greeted her leaning against the open arch that delineated the conservatory from the comfortable family den beyond.

They’d moved to the newly built Dragon Castle at Caerleon just before Carys’ birth.  Harry hadn’t wanted to raise their children in Grimmauld, arguing that the kids would need large gardens and open spaces in which to play.

Hermione was thrilled with the Castle.  She and Harry had designed it themselves and it was very much their forever home.

She drank in the sight of her husband, still as handsome as the day she’d married him.  He looked relaxed, having likely dumped the suit jacket and his tie on the nearest chair he’d found.  The crisp white shirt highlighted the healthy tan he’d acquired over the Summer and the green tones of the grey pinstripe he wore highlighted his green eyes. 

“Hey,” Hermione greeted him belatedly, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious that she was dressed in comfortable jeans, a grey sweatshirt proclaiming her a magical mother, no make-up and her hair scraped back into a serviceable ponytail.

Harry crossed over to her and dropped down to kiss her lightly.  Carys demanded a kiss and Harry buzzed her cheek making her giggle again.  He ended up sitting cross-legged close to Evan.  He reached out and smoothed a curl of Evan’s dark hair.

“He’s going to end up with my hair, poor kid,” Harry mused.

“Better than mine,” Hermione remarked.  It had taken her years to subdue the mass of curls.  She nudged his knee.  “How was the Wizengamot session?”

Harry grinned at her.  “Kevin Spavin hates me.  I vetoed the latest budget and told him to do better than raising taxes on only muggleborn businesses.”

“I can’t believe Spavin thought he’d get that through!” Hermione complained huffily. 

“I think he thought he’d be able to sneak it through with you on maternity leave,” Harry said.  “They forget I hold your proxy as your husband.”

Hermione sighed. 

Assuming her Wizengamot seat five years before had sent the Ministry of Magic into a spin.  The impact of having a monarch with the power to substantially change the legislation they passed had been a difficult adjustment for many to make. 

Officially, Hermione and Harry were known as the Queen and Prince of Albion, Duke and Duchess of Caerleon, titles worked out with the elderly muggle Queen who had been immensely gracious and accommodating about the restoration in the magical world of the Pendragon line.

They had done a lot in the past five years to revert the worst restrictions and inequalities around the muggleborn; to put in place more constructive legislation around the care of magical creatures. 

Hermione had been grateful for Harry’s support, but also the advice of their wider family.  Arcturus, in particular, was great at threading the needle politically so they achieved their goals without alienating the more traditional elements of the Wizengamot.

“Charlotte presented a proposal for the new Werewolf Hostel,” Harry said, pulling Hermione back to the present.  “She got permission for the project to go ahead.”

Hermione smiled at the mention of her old colleague.  Charlotte Gatsby had come into her own as the Head of the Care of Magical Creatures department when Otterson had taken a medical retirement.  They’d remained close despite Hermione leaving to take up her Wizengamot position.

Harry’s face dropped into a frown, and she shot him a questioning look.

“Frank popped in at lunchtime,” Harry said, “Ginny Weasley’s trial is coming up next month.”

Hermione wrinkled her nose.  Ginny had been doing well right up until Evan’s birth.  She’d tried to kidnap their son from Hermione’s hospital room while Hermione was sleeping.  Luckily, Lily had been parked in the visitor’s chair and had dealt with the disturbed witch. 

“She’s been found competent to stand trial,” Harry continued.

“I hope they throw the book at her,” Hermione grumbled, reaching out to touch Evan, reassuring herself of his presence.

“Maybe she’ll get the adjoining Azkaban cell to Meg,” Harry quipped.

Hermione was amused at the imagery.  Megan had also been found to be competent to stand trial and had ended up with a life sentence for attempted murder and abduction.  Theo had divorced her and married Blaise.  The two of them were happy, and the twins were thriving.

“Will we have to face Molly trying to get us to drop the charges again?” Hermione questioned.  The Weasley matriarch had tried in the wake of the initial arrest, sending them owl after owl with Howler after Howler before Bill had stepped in.

“Bill sent her abroad to visit with Percy and his family so hopefully not,” Harry stated.

Hermione nodded. 

Percy had lost his Ministry job in the wake of his confession about the potioning.  In truth, he would have kept his position if he had simply done the potioning; what had sealed his fate was destroying the record of the first chocolates he’d sent.  Because he’d redeemed himself by reporting Megan’s note straight away to the DMLE and taking part in the rescue operation, Hermione had agreed with Amelia Bones for the criminal charges to be dropped.  Percy had initially helped the twins in their shop before going to the United States to open a branch there.  He’d met his wife within a few months, fallen head over heels, and they’d already had two sets of twins.

Hermione shifted, shuffling over to sit in Harry’s lap, burrowing into the comfort of his embrace.

Harry moved to accommodate her as he always did, holding her and dropping a kiss on her forehead.

They watched as Carys continued stacking her blocks, babbling away to herself happily, as Evan slept on his carrier.

There was something so joyful about watching their children simply be.

“You know,” Hermione murmured, “we’ve fulfilled the business of our marital contract now.  You made me a Queen, I’ve made you a father.”

“I guess we have at that,” Harry agreed, laughter colouring his tone.

Hermione moved to see his face.  She met his quizzical gaze with a smile.  “Arranging a marriage of convenience with you was the best decision I’ve ever made.”

Harry’s eyes softened with love for her.  It never failed to make her feel special. “Me too.”

“And as I now find myself very conveniently in love with you,” Hermione continued with a smile, “I would very much like to marry you again without a contract.”

Harry kissed her breathless.  “As I find myself conveniently in love with you too, I would very much like that too.”

They grinned wildly at each other.

Harry kissed her again and…

“Mumma!” Carys tugged on Hermione’s leg as she dragged herself up to stand with one tiny hand.

In his carrier, Evan began to murmur.

Harry chuckled and kissed Hermione again. “Maybe we can take a raincheck once they’re both in bed?”

“That can definitely be arranged,” Hermione quipped.

Harry dropped another light kiss on her lips and shuffled to see to their son.  Hermione turned to Carys picking her giggling daughter up with a grin.

She’d already made certain her daughter inherit on her own merits and would not have to marry to secure the Pendragon legacy, but as she took in the wonder of her family, Hermione nodded to herself.  Her own marriage of convenience really had been the best decision ever.

fin.