Ominis and Anne sent Sebastian to Azkaban for his own good. Their friend and brother had changed from the kind boy he once was, and they regretted their decision ever since. They are desperate to have Sebastian back and are willing to do anything, anything. Ominis will even become the monster he vowed he was not.
The Fall of the House of Gaunt.
How did the ancient House of Gaunt, once among the wealthiest, most powerful, and most dangerous families in the wizarding world, become the desperate souls depicted in The Half-Blood Prince?
How did Sebastian's life sentence to Azkaban trigger the downfall of the heirs of Slytherin...
Chapter 31: Heritage and Inheritance
Weeks passed in a daze of homework and exams.
Hogwarts settled down with Professor Weasley running things, although it was too late for Quidditch, flying had returned with two games held during the last week of term.
Ominis had been dreading the holidays more than anything, locked in that old house with his family for two months.
He got onto the train with everybody else and dragged his feet off again, until his father’s voice greeted him home. Since then, time slowed down. Every hour felt like an age, each morning he woke and each night he tried to charm his door closed so nobody, animal or wizard, could get to him while he slept.
The summer slowly crept on.
Ominis was dreaming.
An invisible snake guided his way, making slight clicking noises as it moved ahead of him, the sound of scales on floor, then on material. He could almost imagine a small head pulling along a small body without arms or legs, ending in a small tip at the tail, with a flicking tongue sniffing the air around them. He felt the cold floor was he walked silently down the hallway, which he knew ending in a door. This was the door to his father’s room, he knew it by the number of rugs on the floor and the feel of the cold wood. Beyond the door ahead lay a room of magnificent beauty, everything ornate.
Ominis raised his hands to feel for the approaching door, pausing as his fingertips made contact.
His father held some of the family’s riches in here, Ominis knew that silks lay or were hung on every soft surface and at the windows. There was a bed bigger than his own where his father laid down to sleep each night, serpents winding their way up and down the poles, Ominis’ own fingers had traced them as a small boy when he had followed his father into here.
And there, in the corner curled Shiva. He could sense her and knew her exact location.
She was watching him carefully, she was curious as to why he was in the room. He paused and tried to speak, to tell the snake he was only dreaming, that he wasn’t really here.
Her tongue flickered in his direction, he could hear the sound from across the room, trying to sense his emotions.
She would not harm a Gaunt, least he had always been told that, but she also had her orders. Nobody was allowed near her master’s box, the one that held the key to Gringotts.
Ominis could sense the box within the room, almost as if it was freedom itself calling to him. All he had to do was open the box and take the key, if he could get to Gringotts and empty his family vault, he would never have to return here, his family would lose all their means to rule. He would run away, never to see his family again.
Only how was he meant to hide maybe a billion galleons?
Shiva was inching closer to him now, he felt the air move as she stretched closer and closer. He wanted to move back, away from her.
It was as if his thoughts of betraying his own family were attracting her ever closer to him. He could feel her moving inches from his face now, her cold breath upon his check. She would strike at him the moment she believed he was going for that box. Nobody touched that except for Master Gaunt or his wife.
Shiva knew that.
Then suddenly Ominis was no longer himself. He was looking up at Shiva towering much higher than him, her face pointed down at him as a small forked tongue flickered from his lips.
He was Snakey, perhaps always had been, climbing the desk and coming over the top, the box was there in front of him as he tried to lift the lid open with his small snout, but Shiva had been watching. It was too late to call Snakey back, too late for them both as Shiva threw herself at them both.
“Sir, you must wake up” A voice called to him as his breathing quickened in the aftermath of the dream.
“Mmh?” Ominis muttered, face in the pillow.
“Sir. Young master, Sir. It is morning. I have been sent to wake you and to present you to your father. It is your birthday sir, happy birthday.”
“Ohhh” Ominis moaned, moving his head up off his pillow slightly and feeling Snakey leaning up against his face.
Just a dream then.
“Sir, please sir, please wake up. Master Gaunt is waiting for you, sir.”
At this, Ominis opened his eyes.
“It’s so early?” He asked thickly. It couldn’t be daybreak yet, and during summer too, it must have been very early.
“Why does he want to see me so early?”
The House Elf shook its head. Ominis could hear the ears flapping.
“I know not, sir”
Ominis tried not to groan.
His birthday. How could he forget. His entire family had been making such a fuss over it since the holidays started. Marvolo with a series of sniggers and his mother and father often whispering to themselves in the corner of the room.
His mind went to the question ‘What did the Gaunts do to their children when they came of age’.
Today marked his first day of being a man.
“Sir, he is waiting on you sir. Your father, sir.” The house elf said filled with fear. The voice was new, which meant another of the families’ house elves must have meet an early end. Ominis didn’t know how much a servant cost, but his family sure went through them fast.
“I’m coming.” He muttered.
Before the strange dream with the snake, he had been dreaming about Sebastian. It was his normal dream, finally managing to write a letter to his best friend, only to have it fly away in the wind, while Sebastian sat in a dark room somewhere far away, waiting for the letter that will never come. Each day it played on his mind that he had not yet made peace with Sebastian, even though it had been months since Sebastian was freed, almost a year. He couldn’t write to him now, it would be too beyond risky and he didn’t know Sebastian’s location. Ominis would say his words to Sebastian, face to face, when they met next, he knew they would meet again.
‘Come Snakey’ He hissed, holding his hand out blindly for his friend to slide into his palm.
“Sir. Please sir. I have orders, he is not to come. The snake is not to come sir, your father was very clear.”
“What?” Ominis said, shocked. “Why can’t Snakey come?”
“Sir. I do not know. They is not telling me. Your father only said you. Not the snake. He said the snake must stay in here. The snake is not welcome.”
Ominis took an intake of breath. Not welcome?
“This house is full of snakes!” He shouted and he didn’t mean only the animal type. “Why is he not invited? He’s a part of his family just as much as I.” Ominis raged.
“Sir. Sir please. Those are my orders. Sir, please- It’s my first day serving the House of Gaunt, please sir.” The elf begged desperately, no doubt the other elves had informed this one of who it’s new masters were. Ominis couldn’t tell if it was male or female by its voice, but it was terrified.
“Of course, sorry. Snakey stay here.”
Dread. Anxiety. Pure horror filled Ominis as he walked down the halls of his house without his snake. Snakey was his eyes, he could see what was going on. Ominis’ ears strained to hear anything from downstairs, but the house was strangely quiet at this time of morning.
“What time is it?” Ominis asked, suddenly curious.
“It is 6am, sir.” The Elf replied timidly. "He wants to see you before anyone else wakes.”
He tried to guess what was going on. When Marvolo had come of age, Ominis had been with Sebastian and Anne. He didn’t know what happened in this family when somebody came of age, he took deep breaths. Would it be the killing curse this time? Would he have to become a murderer and take a life just to become seen as an adult in his family’s eyes? Yes, that seemed the most likely thing and his heart raced. Would they kill him when it became clear he was not a killer like them?
His family would have captured a muggle, hence the early hour of the day. It would be on Ominis to murder them with the killing curse.
The elf continued to walk him downstairs, unseen to Ominis and the newest elf in the Gaunt house, Marvolo was watching his clueless brother from the smallest gap in his bedroom door. He knew already that Ominis would react badly to what came next and he was living for it. He wished he could be in the room with Ominis and their father, but oddly, each Gaunt had to hear this on their own, father to son, mother to daughter. Never were any siblings allowed into the room with them, which Marvolo found stupid. It wasn’t like the secret was that big, so why all the secrecy? What would his parents do when Ominis broke down and started screaming out about the darkest secret of the Gaunt family. He remembered when he turned seventeen and learned Salazar Slytherin’s biggest gift to the Gaunt family, he had been filled with excitement and an eagerness to see his ancestor’s plans fulfilled. Knowing Ominis, he would have a panic attack.
Master Gaunt was waiting for his son. Time for childhood innocent to leave the boy. No Gaunt passed this day without the terrible burden passed to them.
“Come in.” He said as the elf knocked on the door. “Sit him in the chair and leave. If I catch you earsdropping, you won’t last to your second day, clear?” Mr Gaunt told the trembling elf, who bowed low and did as instructed.
“Wait!” Gaunt ordered the elf. “Make sure Marvolo is not anywhere near this room. If I get wind that Marvolo has heard anything I tell my son now, you will pay for it, as will every elf in this household.”
“Yes sir.” The elf gasped in alarm as it left.
Mr Gaunt looked over at Ominis, lingering in on those eyes without any pupils.
“Don’t look too afraid Ominis.” He said, slightly irked over the fact his son always looked terrified in the presence of his family. “Today is a special day. Your birthday. Your 17th birthday and that means something. In our family, just like all other wizarding families that matter, the 17th year marks your coming of age. You are no longer a child and therefore, you are now an adult, an equal in my eyes. Everything I tell you, you are forbidden from telling Marvolo, do you understand me? You are not to tell your snake anything of what we say in this room. If I find out you have spoken, I will kill you myself.”
Ominis froze. He slowly nodded.
There was a moments pause as Mr Gaunt slide off the ring from his hand, he glanced down at the Peverell mark upon it.
“Hold your hand out.” He ordered, moving the ring more into the light so that the Deathly Hallows symbol shone out.
Ominis slowly held his hand up, every nerve he had was listening, waiting. Being blind meant he couldn’t see what was right in front of him.
Mr Gaunt dropped the ring into Ominis’ hands.
To Ominis, it felt slightly heavy and warm. He closed his fingers around it to feel his father’s ring.
“Do you recall the bedtime stories I used to read to you when you were a child.” Mr Gaunt asked, a slightly light in his eye, his head slightly titled.
“Which ones?” Ominis asked cautiously, now feeling the big stone on the ring. “There were many.”
“Beadle the Bard” His father said with distain. “The idiot storyteller. He who had a big mouth he didn’t know when to keep shut.”
“I remember.” Ominis said quietly. The memory came to him. His father reading him a set of children’s stories, laughing hysterically at the final one, then throwing the book across the room, before telling a very alarmed younger Ominis that lesser wizards knew nothing about facts.
“You recall the Three Brothers? Ignore everything you think you know about that story. I’m going to tell you real truth. As you can guess, there was no river and there was no Death, just three gifted wizarding brothers named Peverell. Your brother knows only of their name and that they were famous, the reason Slytherin himself wanted to marry our line. He doesn’t know anything else and I would have that stay this way. Do you understand?”
Ominis nodded, his father continued.
“Cadmus Peverell was the second brother from the Three Brothers story. It’s not just a story Ominis. Cadmus’ line married into the Gaunt family at the time. We are the descendants of the Peverell brothers. A greater family than Salazar Slytherin ever was. Take a feel of that ring in your hand. Feel it. You can’t see the engraving on the stone, but it’s there. A line, a tringle and a circle. Look with your fingers, feel it.”
Ominis did, the stone was really old but he could feel something there.
“I can feel them.” He said softly, wondering what this had to do with him.
“Place the ring on your finger, Ominis.” His father said suddenly.
Ominis took the ring and carefully slid it onto his finger.
“Do you recall what the second brother could do with the stone?” His father asked.
Ominis nodded. All children knew the story.
“He could recall a loved one who had passed.” Ominis said slowly.
“Turn the stone on that ring.” His father said calmly.
Ominis’ fingers seemed to trembled as he felt for the stone. There was no way this was the same stone from his childhood story book. People always said the Gaunts were insane due to the inbreeding, if his father really believed he could reawaken the dead with an old heirloom, maybe those rumours were true after all.
The stone turned when he pushed it, at the same time, he left his hair move slightly as if a little breeze had blown in.
Unseen to Ominis, a woman with dark golden hair and pale silver eyes appeared next to him. His father was averting his eyes from the place he believed his sister would be standing, even though for once he couldn’t see her. How many times had he talked to Noctua Gaunt’s shadow, he had lost count. His sister had been everything to him, even if they didn’t agree on many things.
Her constant battles against their family tiring to him, but she was still his blood and her disappearance hurt just as much today as it did all those years ago.
She had tried to prove the Gaunts all wrong and had lost her life for it. Mr Gaunt knew she had died the moment she appeared to him after he had turned the ring himself, all those years ago.
He had hoped to prove her still among the living.
As Gaunt watched, his son’s mouth dropped open and a cry of anguish escaped his lips as his unseeing eyes searched desperately for the woman clearly talking to him. As Gaunt watched, his son carefully reached out to feel the woman there, but of course, he would only feel air.
“My sister speaks to me often. When I call to her to come.” Gaunt said quietly, in a voice Ominis had never heard him use before. “Sometimes, others come with her. My grandparents, my own parents. It’s not always family, old friends come too, those who have been lost over the years.
The resurrection stone has been in our family longer than the ability to speak with snakes. The reason you walk around with your wand, able to use magic to help you see, that is down to your unique heritage. It’s not from Slytherin side, but from the Peverell bloodline. We have the bloodline of wizards who did extraordinary things that history only remembers as a story, for such was their magnificence ordinary wizards believe it false.”
Gaunt paused. Tapping his fingers on his chin, lost for a second in his own thoughts.
“So, at 17, all Gaunts learn of their heritage and inheritance, but only certain Gaunts are shared the information about this ring and it’s stone. You see, I want you to have this ring when its time. You will pass this ring on to your children and you shall only tell one of them its true purpose. Whichever son holds the values not of Slytherin, but of Cadmus Peverell. If not a son, then a daughter. Never hand this ring to the likes of Marvolo.”
Ominis’ mouth fell open, before he closed it again.
What was he hearing? His father had seriously chosen him, blind as he was, as imperfect as a Gaunt as he was, over Marvolo?
At the same time, he could hear his aunt Noctua in his ears confirming he was better than all of them.
‘”Never stop fighting them”’ She whispered softly into his ear.
Gaunt watched Ominis as his head still turned to listen to whoever spoke to him from where wizards went after death.
“But a warning, my son. There are people out there searching for this ring.
Lunatics. Fanatics.
People who don’t deserve to hold our items in their hands. Bard told the world of our family relics and some wizards want them, badly, they believe they will be equal to our bloodline should they have them.
Tears ran from Ominis’ eyes and he took off the ring, unable to bare wearing it a second longer. Hearing Noctua confirming to him that he should run away, her telling him he is perfect and loved. If this ring was really going to be his, he could talk to her again at a later date.
He lifted his hands to his eyes to rub the tears away. For once, Master Gaunt allowed his son to have this moment. The first time he had tried on the ring, he had nightmares for weeks and couldn’t so much as look at the ring upon his own father’s hand.
“She spoke to me.” He said, his voice shaking as he held out the ring for his father to take back.
“More will join her in time, that’s a certain.” His father said, not unkindly.
“This is a Hallow. One of the Deathly Hallows.” His father said, putting it back onto his finger. “There’s three. The Potter family are also descendants of the Peverell family, they have the cloak. This may surprise you, but you are distantly related to them, cousins to be exact, but you are never to marry them, or interact with them. They are not our family They’ve made it very clear they hate us and our ways. Preferring blood traitors and Half Bloods.” Nobody knows where the wand is, it was last seen in the hands of Loxias when he named it ‘The Deathstick’ as would be typical of a lesser wizard. You must protect this ring, because if the ring and the cloak are ever reunited with the wand, it makes the barer the master of death, and you can guarantee whoever owns the wand right now wants the cloak and the ring too. It is your job to protect this stone and to never let it leave our family. Don’t bother the Potter family, blood traitors they may be, they are as equally gifted in the magical arts as we are. For this reason, I always belittle them in the eyes of other wizards more in line with our views, so they can never raise above us, because they can if they wished. Lucky for us, they are more than happy to marry lesser blooded wizarding families. Nothing good will ever come from a Gaunt challenging a Potter, but maybe one day.”
Gaunt took a drink, while looking down at the ring on his hand.
“The Potters aren’t going to start talking, they love that cloak too much to risk it. Always passing the grubby little thing around to their children to take to school with them, to them it’s a joke. They do not treat it with respect.”
Ominis’ head was spinning. He knew the Potters, there was a Potter at Hogwarts in the year under him, he now wondered if they knew about the Hallows too.
“Marvolo doesn’t know any of this?” Ominis asked shaky “Not the ring, or what it is? He doesn’t know any of this?”
“He only knows that our family are related to Cadmus Peverell, a gifted and ancient wizarding family. He knows nothing of the ring’s true abilities. He believes it a simple heirloom; he does not know of the Deathly Hallows. I have picked you to get this inheritance.”
“The second thing I want to tell you is something Marvolo knows and no doubt when you leave this room, he will taunt you about it. You may speak freely about the next part as if it were all we spoken about today. Understand?” Gaunt asked Ominis, back on business now.
Ominis nodded.
“We have talked about heritage, but now it’s time to talk inheritance. Tell me, my son, have you heard a voice at Hogwarts before, from the walls maybe or deep in the castle itself?”
Now his father sounded like he was smiling, he sounded like a school boy again, who had been waiting a long time to tell his son this.
“A voice nobody else but you can hear?”
Ominis’ blood ran cold, goosebumps erupted down his arms. Yes, there had been a voice.
Since his first night at Hogwarts, all those years ago, he had heard a voice calling to him as he slept, or moved around the castle. Somebody calling him by his name, only for him to turn his head and not hear footsteps.
He had thought he was just hearing things, being away from home and everything he knew, settling into a new environment.
In the end he had laid the blame on Peeves, believing the Poltergeist was playing tricks on him.
He nodded.
“Yes?”
His father was smiling now, for sure. Ominis could hear the enthusiasm in his voice.
“Think back to when you were a boy, do you recall me and your mother telling you about a secret chamber at Hogwarts? We told you Slytherin had made one. Do you remember? You were so young, so you may have forgotten.”
Master Gaunt took a drink, Ominis could hear him place the glass down.
“They say she is beautiful, she could be fifty foot long by now, she has lived many hundreds of years already and she will live just as longer still. It is her who calls to you Ominis, she feels us whenever we are near the castle and she calls out to us. She has lived in the castle since Slytherin left.
He placed her there the very night the other founders forced him out. Our payment for speaking Parseltounge, gifted to the Gaunt family who carry the Peverell bloodline, is to ensure her survival and her concealment.
She’s a snake Ominis, a Basilisk. Normally the Gaunt family would never be bossed around, but all Slytherin asked of us was to carry on his work, guard the chamber and when it’s time, we are to open it and free her, so she can claim all the Mudbloods finally. You see Ominis, there really is a chamber, deep down in the school, under the lake. You may notice you hear her the most when you are in bed, it’s because you are right above her. She sleeps under you each night at school. Slytherin knew his students alone should be the closest to her. Throughout the generations, the Gaunts, all of us, have protected the chamber. We’ve been waiting for the true heir of Slytherin who will open the chamber and set her free. No Gaunt has ever done this, even though we can any time. Do you know why?”
Ominis shook his head.
“No?” He asked, now entirely in shock. Sheer disgust numbed him. His family was even worse than he had ever believed.
“We can’t look upon her, she can kill with her gaze. When you were born without working eyes, your mother wanted to search the world, use any magical means necessarily to make you see. Others in this family could see clearer than your mother, who herself was blinded by parental love. You were born unable to see because it is you Ominis, you are Slytherin’s true heir.
She can’t harm you.
You can be in her presence and not fear her eyes. You will open the chamber of secrets on your final day at Hogwarts and when they all return next year, she will be unleashed upon the Mudbloods at that school. Marvolo likes to think he is the prince of this family, but it’s you Ominis. You are the heir of Slytherin, you are the Gaunt who will change our world. And that, my son, is the reason I wanted you home so badly. You are my son, the one this family has been waiting for. So if one insignificant boy had a jail break from Azkaban using all my favours with my peers, it was a little price to pay to have my little prince back home where he belongs.”
He was rooted in his seat.
Then he lunched forward and vomited up water.
“Ominis, control your emotions.” His father said simply, as Ominis continued to empty his stomach.
“You want me to kill students?” Ominis asked in horror at last, gasping for air as his father cleaned up after him with his wand.
“Just the Mudbloods. They shouldn’t be at the school anyway. You won’t be killing students, you shall be cleansing the dirt, the pretenders, from our society before they can learn enough to join it.”
“Our family, has kept this all this time? For-For generations? And nobody has said a thing?”
“I don’t see an issue with that.” Came his father, short and simple.
The true horror of this family, the depravity, was crushing him. His family had always been despicable, but this was a new low even for them.
They were all complaisant to murder, they had been planning it for centuries, for millennia and nobody had said anything!
“Did Noctua know this?” He asked
“She did, it’s what made her leave the family.” His father said in a neutral voice.
“However, to answer your question, yes, there have been incidents over the years, when a few Gaunts have spoken of the chamber drunk out of their heads, or our own children have ran to teachers, claiming there is a monster hiding in the walls.”
At this, Gaunt laughed.
“But that’s the thing Ominis, we are never believed, even for all our wealth, our prestige. If you were to go shouting about the chamber right now at school, nobody will ever believe you. The school has been searched many times and they never found the chamber, yet its right in front of their eyes. I imagine many students have stood right in front of the entrance each year and they have no idea what it is. It is impossible for them to even enter; they can’t speak our language. I will tell you in time where the chamber is.”
Mr Gaunt smiled at his son.
“I know this may be overwhelming, but this is what being part of his family is all about. You have great gifts and carry a noble purpose. You may go now. Remember, not a word to Marvolo about the Deathly Hallows. Go, you are dismissed.”
Ominis snapped his thoughts together.
“Yes.”
“And wash your face, it’s your birthday after all, your family all wish to celebrate with you.”
“I will.” Ominis said dully, as he approached the door.
“Oh and Ominis? I hear tell from my sources that your dear Sebastian Sallow will be back at Hogwarts this upcoming term, did you know that? It’s my view that he would have been safer staying in St Mungos, if you ask me. Make sure he knows to keep his mouth shut, now and forever, no matter how guilty he feels over what he did to his uncle. If he says anything, if I get wind he is close to cracking, then he will go the same way as that lovely woman who worked for the Prophet. I’ve forgotten her name already, I have had so many silenced since her. Make sure he knows if he ever feels like he’s going to confess to his crimes that I can arrange for him to be united with his uncle and his parents. I have opted for mercy, but you know I don’t like loose ends, so tell him to be very careful and tread lightly around this family. We are always watching and Hogsmeade is not as safe as you’d believe.”
Ominis nodded. His imagination of Poppy’s fate appeared in his mind, he could almost see his own picture of Marvolo creeping up behind his classmate, a wand in his hand.
He nodded.
“I will tell him father.”
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Feels right that my first post on this new account should be about this fic. This is one that I'm most proud of and it has helped spark my love of writing again.
This fic contains: sentient horcruxes, complex relationships, dubious morality, and more! Please check the tags before reading!
Hermione had just finished up her astronomy essay as she packed up her things. Glancing out the window of the Gryffindor common room, she could see the mid-afternoon sun glistening off the waters of the Black Lake.
“Finally,” she muttered to herself, “finished before nightfall.”
Searching around the room, she noticed it was abysmally quiet. She wondered if everyone but herself had taken the day to roam the grounds. Ron, Harry, and Ginny were caught up practicing for the upcoming Quidditch match against Ravenclaw, leaving Hermione to get ahead on next week’s assignments. Which she did. All of them. Even the extra credit potions essay that she certainly didn’t need to do.
Sighing to herself, she realized how completely unprepared she was to have free time. A familiar rumble in her stomach made her realize she missed lunch. After a moment, she decided to go downstairs to the kitchens in search of a snack. It had been a while since she visited the house elves, anyway.
She allowed herself to wander lazily through the corridors. The fresh spring air had pulled most of the students out into the afternoon sun. Quidditch practice would likely last well into nightfall, leaving Hermione to her own devices for a few hours. Maybe after a snack, she could visit the library to see if the new Gainsworth work she had reserved was ready. She rarely found herself with time to read for pleasure these days.
Hermione reached the doors of the kitchens and pushed them open slowly. She found herself in a long hallway filled with extra tables, tablecloths, and dining china. The walls were stacked high with old chairs and portraits that had long lost their residents. She could hear a faint clamor behind the door at the end of the hall, and knew the house elves were hard at work preparing dinner. The aroma from the kitchen filled the air and reminded Hermione of freshly baked bread from the bakery down the street from her childhood home.
Smiling gently at the memory, Hermione made her way down the hallway before freezing at the noise of a faint rustle. Turning slowly to the side, she could barely see a pair of black loafers sticking out from behind a table. Moving closer to investigate, she noticed the loafers were indeed attached to a body. The body was sprawled out near the far corner of the room, laying on an old white dining linen. Curiosity filled her mind as she peered around the table to find the owner of the loafers. Her eyes examined the figure slowly. A small book was in his lap, apparently forgotten as he dozed away. His robes were disheveled, and his shirt was untucked from his trousers just enough to show the tiniest glimpse of skin on his hipbone. Hermione noticed his blonde hair was tousled just enough to show he had been asleep for a while. One bright blonde lock had fallen across his eyes and tickled his nose-
Bright blonde. Slytherin robes. A small gasp escaped Hermione’s lips as she realized the figure asleep in front of her was none other than Draco Malfoy. He looked so serene, she barely recognized him. Without the malice that typically accompanied an encounter with Malfoy, Hermione realized he looked like an average boy. Okay, maybe he was well above average in the looks department. His smooth skin was almost luminous, and the contour of his jawline suggested he wasn’t the same little boy she knew as a first year. No, this version had matured in all the right ways. A blush tore across her face as she realized the turn her thoughts had taken. She was staring- at Malfoy.
Quickly gathering herself, she turned away and headed the other direction. The last thing she needed was for him to wake up and notice her staring.
‘’Mione?”
Frozen in place, a deep shiver went down Hermione’s spine. The sound was barely audible, she couldn’t even decipher if it was real. Perhaps she was just imagining it. Besides, he had never referred to her as anything except Granger. And Mudblood.
“Granger?”
She slowly turned towards the voice, the heat of embarrassment rising in her cheeks.
“Are you spying on me?” Draco drawled, sitting himself up to lean back on his elbows. Despite the daze in his eye, his gaze was piercing. Hermione had the sudden thought that maybe he could see directly through her, down to her soul. Dragging out the deepest, darkest secrets she had never even muttered aloud. She had the urge to run, but she was paralyzed. Locked under his gaze.
“N- No of course not,” Hermione stammered, breaking away from his gaze and staring at her feet.
Draco stood, arms crossed lazily across his chest as he looked Hermione up and down.
“Then why are you here, Mudblood?” He sneered, the typical Malfoy charm returning.
“I was just on my way to the kitchens. It’s not my fault you chose the most inconvenient space for an afternoon nap. Why are you here, anyway? Don’t they have couches in the Slytherin common room? Or is it just full of stone slabs and snakes?” Hermione felt the heat building in her abdomen. Something about him standing here, acting as if she was in the wrong for simply existing in the same room as him, made her stomach twist in irritation. If there were any other emotions brewing in there, Hermione made a point to Not Pay Attention.
“On your way to the kitchens? What, roleplaying house elf tonight?” As the words left his mouth, Draco was taking slow strides toward Hermione. His gaze was fixed on hers, sparkling with something she couldn’t quite place. Hatred? Curiosity?
“Oh, fuck off Malfoy.” Hermione snarled, hand instinctively grasping at her wand by her side.
Draco’s eyebrows lifted and he let out a chuckle, seemingly surprised at Hermione’s language. At the noise, she suddenly became acutely aware that the space between them had been minimized to about a space. Her breath hitched as she caught a whiff of his scent. It was a mixture of citrus aftershave, pine, and... spearmint toothpaste.
Before she could make any reckless decisions, Draco turned on his heel and gathered his books, marking the end of the interaction. She turned away, forgetting the purpose of her trip and only thinking about getting far, far, away. Before she reached the end of the hall, she heard him clear his throat.
“It’s quiet down here. And warm. I get tired of hearing Crabbe and Goyle fail at attempting to read. Sometimes I just want to be somewhere away from... it all.” Draco’s voice falters on the last sentence.
“Oh, and Granger?” Hermione spins to make eye contact with Draco, noticing a sparkle in his eyes she can’t quite place. It’s subtle, but there.
“If you try interrupting me again, I’ll make you regret it.” A crooked grin sends Hermione bolting through the doors and back to the Gryffindor common room before she even has time to notice the butterflies making their way to the pit of her stomach. She didn’t even have time to wonder if the faint whisper of her given name was real or imagined.
“Your parents would throw a right fit, if they saw us now,” Hermione giggles, bumping her shoulder into Draco’s.
It’s their last week ever at Hogwarts, and they sit on the edge of the Astronomy tower, sunset colouring them in golds and pinks, and it’s… truly, honestly peaceful, for the first time in what feels like forever. Hermione of a year ago would have thought anyone crazy for even suggesting she and Draco Malfoy would ever be something resembling friends one day.
And yet, here they are.
Draco turns up his nose, but a smile is fighting its way onto his face despite his best efforts. “Oh, shut up, as if your two golden boys wouldn’t hex me on the spot.”
And, well, he’s not wrong, knowing Harry and Ron, and their overprotective tendencies. But, “I can be friends with whomever I want, thank you. Neither Harry nor Ron have any say in whom I talk to and whom I befriend. Even more so seeing as I am, in fact, older than both of them.”
Draco snorts. “I don’t know if that’s you standing up for yourself or standing up for me, but either way, Granger, I am quite impressed.”
Hermione pushes some of her hair out of her face, even as the tips of her ears burn, annoyingly. “Piss off, Malfoy,” she says, mock shoving him away to hide her embarrassment.
He shoves her right back, just because he’s an ass, and it has them both laughing, light-hearted, carefree. “Ah, Granger, Granger. Nevermind my parents or your friends. My twelve years old self would have a complete meltdown were he to see us now.”
Summary: Muggle AU. Hermione Granger is new in town, and she has a pretty complicated coffee order.
Trigger Warnings: N/A
xxx
It’s seven o’clock on a Monday, and the morning rush is in full swing at The Burrow. Forming a line out the door and around the block are dozens of important, yet fidgety business people with complicated coffee orders, and little patience.
Ron Weasley opens every morning, Monday through Friday, and he handles it well. Most customers are regulars, and he’s already memorized their morning joe specifications.
The majority of the morning crowd has been forgiving of the occasional slip-up. Seven years of working the first shift at the family-owned coffee shop means a history of accidental extra-whipped cream, almond milk instead of soy, and finger-slips on the espresso machine, and the customers always return.
Maybe it’s because they’re too tired to notice their Americanos are actually Flat-Whites. Or maybe it’s the hospitable vibe of The Burrow that makes complaining about bad latte art seem as petty as telling Grandma her muffins are dry.
Every now and then, there’s a new customer, and Ron has to whip out his earnest, people-pleasing attitude to assure that the newbie sticks around. He’ll do what it takes to turn them into a regular, and make them thankful that they chose the local joint over the cookie-cutter corporate shop across the street.
‘Take an interest in their day!’ his Mum would say. ‘Validate their order! Then make sure to ask their name, and use it!’
Monday morning, at seven o’clock, is one of those times.
“Double Hazelnut Almond Milk Macchiato.”
“Size?”
“Medium.”
The customer is about Ron’s age, and probably new in town. She doesn’t yet know that at The Burrow, ‘Double Macchiatos’ are simply called ‘Tall Macchiatos’, and instead of ‘small’, ‘medium’, and ‘large’, The Burrow’s sizes go by their family pets in order of mass: Pig, Errol, and Chudley.
“Great,” he says, grinning, “coming right up.”
“Make sure it’s almond milk,” she reminds him.
“Yup.”
“And hazelnut,” she adds.
“Yup.”
“Double-shot—”
“I heard you,” says Ron impatiently. Have a little trust, lady.
“Okay, just making sure!”
“Can I get a name for the order?”
“Hermione.”
Ron stares at the girl. Her brown eyes are round and drowsy, her hair is unkempt and wild, which contradicts the clean lines of the business suit she’s wearing. She looks so normal. “Can you repeat that?”
“Hermione. H-E-R-M-I-O-N-E.”
He hadn’t asked her to spell it, and the way she emphasizes each syllable reminds Ron of how adults would read to him when he was a kid. It’s condescending.
“Coming right up, Hermione.”
“Great.”
Ron resists rolling his eyes. He can handle a double hazelnut almond milk macchiato, and if he screws it up, she probably wouldn’t even know the difference. Most customers wouldn’t.
As Hermione paces by the counter checking her watch, he whips up a medium, double, hazelnut, almond milk ...cappuccino. Just to test his theory, of course.
“Here you go!”
He hands the drink to Hermione and watches as she takes a sip. Her eyes narrow, and for a moment, he’s convinced she can tell…
Then her face melts back to a polite grin. “Thank you!”
Maybe she can’t. Ron shakes his head as she turns and leaves, turning his attention to the next customer’s order.
Hermione returns on Tuesday morning at 7 am sharp. Her hair is pulled back into a stiff, tight ponytail that just barely lassos her wild mane, and she probably checks her watch fifteen times while in line. Ron suppresses a scoff—she can just make coffee at home if she’s in such a rush.
“Morning, Hermione!” he says with a forced smile. “Same as yesterday?”
She looks taken aback at first, clearly not expecting him to remember her name. “Um, yes, same as yesterday.”
“Coming right up.”
“Medium, Double, Hazelnut—“
“Almond Milk Macchiato,” he says. “I got it.”
“Okay,” shrugs Hermione, eyebrows raised. “Then do it.”
What’s her problem? “Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” she snaps. “I need coffee, not a counseling session.”
Wow. He wants to retort back, but his mother’s nagging voice in his head stops him. ‘Always be extra-polite to grumpy customers; remember they haven’t had their coffee fix yet.’
“Of course,” Ron says through gritted teeth, in as polite a tone as he can manage. To satisfy his desire to argue, he whips her up a medium, double, hazelnut soy macchiato, only half-hoping she doesn’t notice.
He doesn’t get a chance to see if she does, because she’s out the door before a single sip.
Her Wednesday return is accompanied by a looming dread in the pit of Ron’s stomach. He hates rude people, especially at 7am. Ron spots her impatiently tapping her foot in line, as usual, and prepares himself for their interaction.
“Hello,” he says politely, stopping himself before the natural ‘how are you?’ escapes his lips. “What can I get for you today?”
“Hi,” she says with a sheepish smile. “The same as yesterday.”
“Which is?”
“Erm,” she stammers, her expression confused, “a medium—“
“I’m kidding,” he laughs, “I know your order.”
“Oh. Thank you.”
She pays, and Ron fixes her a medium double caramel almond milk macchiato.
“Sorry about yesterday,” she says when she picks up her drink. “You were just trying to be nice, and I was rude.”
“Oh,” starts Ron, who isn’t expecting an apology. “That’s okay. Happens a lot during the morning shift.”
She smiles and nods before turning around to leave, taking a sip on her way out the door. Ron watches for her reaction, but doesn’t catch it.
She seems to be in a better mood by Thursday.
“The usual,” is all she says when she arrives at the counter, but this time she’s smiling. She looks different when she smiles—pretty. Something else unidentifiable replaces the dread in his stomach. Ron wonders if it’s the first time he’s seen her smile or if it’s just the first time he’s noticed.
But based on the tired circles under her eyes, she’s exhausted, so Ron prepares her a medium triple hazelnut almond milk macchiato. An extra shot of espresso never hurt anyone, and maybe it’ll help her get through the day. Or maybe, she’ll experience a coffee crash and have to return to The Burrow later.
Both good things.
“Just so you know,” she says as Ron hands over her cup, “it’s been a stressful week. I started a new job, and it’s not going well.”
“I’m—I’m sorry to hear that,” says Ron. He looks into her eyes, and for a moment, they soften. There’s more to her tough and professional exterior.
“These have made the week just a little better,” she adds, holding up her macchiato, before smiling softly and turning to leave.
Of course, Hermione requests her usual on Friday, and Ron is quickly running out of ideas for ways to screw with her order.
In celebration of the weekend, he might be able to pass a large off as a special treat. Other than that, he has to stick to the request—a double hazelnut almond milk macchiato. The first of the week. Better not mess it up.
As soon as he pops the cap onto her cup, it looks empty. He reaches for his marker again and scribbles something else—his phone number.
He’s not sure what compels him to do it. Maybe it’s because the larger size leaves so much white space. It could be because the grumpy brunette has been occupying his thoughts all week — he’s never purposely tried to fuck up someone’s coffee five days in a row.
Or maybe, it’s because when she walked in this morning, he smiled, and he just wants to learn more about the woman who thinks she knows what a double hazelnut almond milk macchiato tastes like.
She’ll probably ignore it anyway.
But later that day, his phone buzzes on the counter, and he scrambles for it faster than he’d run away from a mob of spiders.
The text is from an unknown number, but there’s no mystery. It only took five days, but you finally got my order correct!
Ron scowls at his phone. She knew? She was duping him?
Well, Hermione, why’d you keep coming back?
As soon as the message sends, he’s impatient, tapping his foot, pacing, and jittery. Just like Hermione every morning.
His phone flashes and buzzes, and Ron almost drops it by checking too quickly.
A/N: Thanks to @vivithefolle for getting through my enormous writer’s block to inspire me to write this story. It’s angst filled Hurt/Comfort/Family with many triggering aspects for those who are ND. I apologize for it but the story wouldn’t leave me alone.
Given the nature of the subject matter, I’m personally rating this M rated - and because of the troubling aspects of the story, especially for those who would be triggered by what the story entails.
CW: child bullying, child injury, being bullied for being neurodivergent
Give me my demarcation line, damn it!
The Incident
Once more, with Feeling
Hermione took her reading glasses off of her nose and rubbed her eyes. She was absolutely at her wit’s end with the bloody bureaucracy of the Wizengamot and why they refuse to do things her way when it’s the best for everyone involved. But No, that sod Purifoy has to put in his Galleon and derail everything and cause a ruckus in the chambers.
“Mrs. Granger?” Hermione’s executive assistant Miranda Blunt stuck her head in the office. “Mrs. Potter is calling, says it’s an emergency.”
“Put her through,” Hermione got up from her vast oaken desk and went to the fireplace. The flames in there turned green from the warming orange from the chilly August morning.
“Hermione,” Ginny’s voice came through crystal clear. “We need you at St. Mungo’s immediately.”
Her heart lurched to a sudden stop. “What’s happened? Ron?” Hermione rose from the fireplace and went to collect her purse from the secure drawer in her desk. “If it involves Harry he’s going to catch an earful.” She pulled the compact mirror from her pocket and opened it, waiting the seconds for her assistant to open hers. “I’m going to St. Mungo’s. I’ll check back in as soon as I can.”
“Understood.” Miranda broke the connection.
“What’s happened?” Hermione reached for the urn on the mantle.
“It’s Hugo,” Ginny didn’t elaborate. “We need you immediately.”
Hermione froze. Her baby. Well, not a real baby anymore, not after the growth spurt he had this summer and seemed to stretch out by inches, taking after Ron, but still such a sweet boy. She enjoyed snuggling him when he would allow it, but he couldn’t fall asleep unless Ron was holding him in his arms, holding onto him awkwardly until his soft snores told everyone that he could be gently placed in his own bed.
She shook herself from her stupor and reached into the urn for the Floo powder and threw it in, stepping through the few blocks to the Auror waiting area. She saw Ginny sitting there with Rose, James, Al, and Lily Luna. Harry was nowhere to be found. Rose had her hand wrapped up, like she’d broken it and James was sitting on the other side of the room, two black eyes and a blood crusted nose that looked like it hadn’t been treated yet.
“Where –
“The nurse will see you back,” Ginny said stoically.
Hermione ran from the room to the admission desk and saw the Nurse. Hermione knew her well enough by face and first name but wasn’t much beyond that. “I was told my son was admitted. Hugo Weasley-Granger.”
“Yes, you’re needed.” The nurse left the window and met Hermione at the doors, walking briskly into the various hallways that hadn’t changed much in the last 20 years. “Mrs. Potter brought your son in about twenty minutes ago and we said we needed you immediately. He’s been hurt but there’s something else going on, something we don’t quite understand, and you might be able to shed some light on the situation.”
Hermione went into the area and saw her son sitting in the corner of the room, rocking back and forth with his arms wrapped around his knees. There was some crusted blood on his neck, below his ear, and a huge bruise on the side of his face.
“He won’t let us near him, Mrs. Weasley,” a medi-witch spoke up first. “Any time any of us even gets within a meter of him, he screams.”
“I am going to sit on the ground. Every time I finish a sentence, move me six inches closer. His therapist has things in place to help him when he gets like this.” Hermione dropped her purse and put her wand down. She knew about these behaviors and she’d read up on how to help him cope as well.
“Hugo, Mummy is here.” Her voice was so flat to her own ears it frightened her – but she knew from Audrey that it would be soothing for her son. “You’re safe. No one else is going to hurt you,” She felt magic surround her, ever so slowly shifting her forward towards her son. “Aunt Ginny told me you needed me. I came straight away.”
She repeated the mantra until she was sitting right in front of her son. While he looked somewhat like Ron, being gangly and with auburn hair with ginger strands and streaks through it, it had her texture, along with freckles across his nose and on his neck. But he took after her in personality, temperament, and how he saw the world, but only more intensely. She understood him, when he would be quiet for hours at a time, or completely engrossed in something that interested him.
She suspected he was much like her by the time he was a year old, with some behaviors she had been watching to see if they manifested. As soon as they started, she took him to a Muggle doctor who recommended her to a specialist who made a tentative diagnosis. He had a cadre of therapists to help him with his speech and role playing so he wouldn’t have a meltdown for any change in his daily schedule.
She knew. She didn’t need it to be tentative, from how much he’d get overwhelmed at Sunday lunches at the Burrow to not liking being hugged or easily frustrated to even the texture of his clothing, which she understood far too well. Yes, he was much like her so seeing him like this was painful. But while her parents struggled for so long, she fought like hell so he wouldn’t struggle as much as she did growing up.
“Hugo, I am right here. I’m not going anywhere. No one is going to hurt you. When you are ready, you can crawl into my lap. Take the time you need.”
Ever so slowly, in what felt like hours was probably seconds, Hugo slowly ceased rocking before crawling into her lap, right before he started rocking hard yet again.
He settled in and she took a deep breath, knowing that the first giant hurdle had been passed.
“Love, the medi-witch is going to use magic to put us up on the bed. Close your eyes and bury your face in my chest. They won’t be using magic on you, only me.” He did as instructed, burying his head into the flannel of her jumper. She looked at the Medi-witch. She watched the non-verbal incantation wand movement and braced slightly. Magic enveloped her again, levitating her from the very cold tile floor up onto the gurney.
“Sweetie, will you hold my hand? I don’t want you to talk but I do need you to communicate with me and I know this way is much easier for you right now.” She opened her hand and waited for him to put his in hers, squeezing it hard.
“That’s terrific, love. Now you don’t have to talk at all the rest of the time we’re here, only answer my questions by squeezing my hand.” Hermione stared over his head at the Medi-witch and watched her procure parchment and self-dictating quill. She nodded once for Hermione to start.
“Did Rosie hurt you?” One squeeze. “Rosie didn’t hurt you. That’s good. I’m happy to hear that.”
“Did Lils hurt you?” One squeeze. “Al?” One squeeze. “So Jamie hurt you?” Two squeezes.
“Could you tell Aunt Ginny what happened?” One squeeze. “You hurt too much, doesn’t it?” Two squeezes. “I thought so. Are you still hurting?” Two squeezes. “And you don’t want to tattle on Jamie?” One squeeze.
“Was Jamie playing Quidditch?” Two squeezes. “Was he chasing a snitch?” One squeeze. “Throwing a Quaffle?” Two squeezes. “The bludger?” two squeezes.
“Were you on your toy broom outside, playing?” Two squeezes. “Was Aunt Ginny watching you?” One squeeze. “Jamie convinced you to go play outside with him and Rose?” Two squeezes. “And then you got hurt and saw Aunt Ginny?” Two squeezes.
“Jamie convinced you to come outside and ride your broom without an adult.” She sighed. “Jamie means well sometimes but he doesn’t quite fathom why the rules are in place for Hugo.” She turned back to her son. “I’m not mad at you, sweetie. You love your older cousin and want to be able to play with him and Rosie and you hate being left out.” Two squeezes. “Yes, I figured as such.”
Hermione looked at the other medi-witch. “Have you asked Mrs. Potter what happened?”
“She said that she found two bludgers flying around their pitch and Hugo on the ground crying.”
“Did Jamie hit the bludgers at you?” Hugo started rocking. “More than once?” The rocking grew frantic and she felt her shirt getting damp.
The door crashed open, and Ron stood in the doorway, seeing his wife and child on the gurney. Hermione slightly shook her head before seeing his ears turning red. Right now she couldn’t cope with Ron and Hugo so Ron would have to deal with it, for now at least.
He closed the door softly while Hermione rocked Hugo in her lap, letting her son have his silent meltdown without him noticing everyone in the room watching him. People watching him meltdown always made it worse.
The Healer pulled his wand and handed it to the medi-witch, showing Hermione without his wand that he wanted to charm Hugo to sleep so they could tend him. She nodded and watched the healer gently apply the charm to her son and felt him drift off to sleep, like he’d fallen asleep in her arms which he hadn’t done since he was a toddler. He always preferred his Daddy once he could make his wishes known. She wouldn’t complain, even if her heart had been beating out of her chest entirely too hard for her continued good health.
She stood and gently placed her son on the gurney, feeling a sob try to erupt. She stifled it, knowing she’d pay for it later on but Hugo came first.
“Now that he’s asleep, we can check him. We did not want to do that without a parent’s presence and their permission. But his behavior was so queer that – “
Hermione turned and if she’d had her wand in her hand, she couldn’t guarantee that she wouldn’t have hexed the healer tending her son. “His behaviour is not queer,” Hermione growled. “My son is Autistic. He’s been diagnosed by Muggle doctors and has Healer Reeves as his Magical counselor. He takes after me that way and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t refer to my son that way.”
“Yes, Mrs. Weasley,” he retorted instantly. “He got upset and we didn’t know how to help him once Mrs. Potter had left the room.”
“Now you know,” she snorted, “and now you can tell me what happened.”
Hermione stepped back to the side of the room and watched the Healers and multiple medi-witches work on her son, using magical diagnostic charms and spells to work. They worked efficiently, silently, with a medi-witch dictating the medical records.
Seconds passed that felt like days, with the Healers finally turning back to Hermione, seeing her. “He will be OK. From what Mrs. Potter told us, along with our tests, he has a concussion from getting hit with a bludger. There is also a huge bruise on his back from what looks like another bludger impact. I’d almost say that someone was hitting them at your son, but I don’t like to make assumptions. Bruise paste will fix the back but for the head, he will need time at home, with little in the way of lights and noise. It’s not severe, not like Quidditch players get from time to time, but he will require some time to rest and recover.”
“There’s nothing you can do for him?”
“These things are tricky when it comes to the brain. Even Muggle Medicine has limitations when it comes to this kind of brain injury. But at his age, he needs rest and quiet and darkness to remove stimulation for him. It would probably benefit him in the long run, too, given what you’ve said.”
She sighed, trying to take a deep breath that just wouldn’t happen. Her precious son, her sensitive child, was bullied by an older cousin. That was bad enough. That would be dealt with as soon as Hugo was home and asleep in his bed. But to add a possible traumatic brain injury to it, at his age, was a bit too far. Fortunately, she had ample time accrued to take off and spend it with him, or work from home given everything going on. However, seeing to what happened took priority after tending Hugo.
“When can we take him home, since my husband is probably out in the waiting room?”
“We shall be finished shortly, maybe a few more minutes, and then take him home straightaway. No Floo travel for at least a month. No Portkeys either since it might aggravate any sort of injury. Apparition or Muggle transport only, and then keep it as minimal as possible, for his benefit.”
Hermione understood that all too well. She tended Harry and Ron occasionally after mishaps with the Aurors. “Please keep him asleep until I return. I need to go speak with my husband.” She collected her purse from near the door and slipped out, knowing that Ron would be mad with grief. Instead, she found him pacing the hallway around the first corner.
“How is he?” He raced up to her when he saw her, embracing her like she desperately needed. She didn’t realize how much tension let go with his hug. “I didn’t want to come back in and upset Hugh. I knew you’d have it under control.”
Hermione explained what happened as well as what caused it. Ron’s face grew even more pale than normal but his ears and neck grew intensely red.
“I’m upset too but we will handle it later, once we get Hugo home and in bed resting. And it’s not like Ginny probably hasn’t tended to things by now.” She slumped back into her husband’s arms. Who knew that her heart would have two distinct beats from her own, and stress hers when anything happened to either of her kids. She hadn’t realized until now how much her children’s welfare meant to her, especially when it came to the treatment by the family. “We need the healers to check on Rosie. She had a wrap around her wrist when I rushed through the waiting room.”
“You go get Hugo and take him home. I’ll tend to Rosie and we’ll be home straightaway. I also will need to speak with her and find out what happened.”
Hermione took a deep breath, relaxing her back and shoulders. “I’ll see you when you get home, Love.” She stood on her tiptoes and brushed a kiss across his lips. The privacy of the hallway would suffice, given the overwhelming adoration she had for her husband. He was her rock, her foundation, rarely getting inside his head too much now, but also giving her subtle direction and taking the mental load on what needed to be done without being boorish like she could be. He never demanded, and never expressed disappointment when she made a different decision but, most of the time, his wisdom was exactly what she needed when she felt lost and drowning in indecision.
She turned and went back to the room to collect her son and take him home.
*****************
“Hermione, we’re home,” Ron bellowed into their residence outside of Cardiff. “And Ginny will be over as soon as the Healers tend Jamie.”
Hermione came out of Hugo’s room, closing the door without shutting it completely. “I have it dark and quiet in his room, and the potion the healers gave him should let him sleep for hours. They said he needed to sleep and rest as much as possible for the next two weeks, minimum. I’ve already spoken to Miranda and set the owls to come here and she will pop over after work to bring today’s docket and tomorrow’s as well.”
“Mum, I’m sorry,” Rosie chimed in. “I saw what happened and instead of running to get Aunt Ginny I got upset and hit Jamie. I know it was wrong but – “
“What happened?” Hermione tried to keep her voice neutral for her older child, who was just like her Dad with her underlying temper. She wasn’t mad at Rosie and she needed to keep her temper in check with her child, who might mistake that Mum was mad at her, and not frustrated with the situation.
Rose looked at her Dad and he nodded before she turned back to her Mum.
“Everyone went outside to play, with Aunt Ginny watching us. Al and Lils were inside coloring and Hugo came out to fly around. Lils yelled and Aunt Ginny went back inside.” Rose looked at Ron and he nodded, prodding her gently to continue.
“Jamie and I kept playing Quidditch out back, throwing the quaffle while dodging the bludgers flying around while Aunt Ginny was inside making Lunch. It was so much fun, and we were laughing when either of us missed the Quaffle or got bumped by the bludger. I thought Hugo had gone inside with Aunt Ginny since I didn’t see him. Jamie flew down and plucked up a beater’s bat out of the box and said he’d take a swipe at them while flying and I said OK since it’s good practice for me, too.”
“You know how I feel about that,” Hermione said, “especially with Aunt Ginny not keeping a close watch on you while you’re doing it.”
“I know,” Rose replied. “I thought she’d be inside only for a few moments.”
“Ok, go ahead.”
“So the bludgers were flying around and Jamie had his beater’s bat out while also throwing the Quaffle at me from time to time. Anyway, I told Jamie to wait a moment because I wanted something to drink. I heard him laughing and then I heard a thump and saw Hugo on the ground and his broom broken. I didn’t know Hugo had come back outside to fly some more. I looked up and saw one racing for Hugo. I ran towards him but couldn’t stop it from hitting him in the head before bouncing off. I ran back for my broom and raced up to where Jamie was. He looked boggled that another bludger had hit Hugo. I… I flew into him while on my broom before taking his beater’s bat and hitting him with it.
“Aunt Ginny came outside and saw Hugo on the ground. She dropped the tray of sandwiches and pumpkin juice and ran to him, yelling at us to get down on the ground, that we needed to go to St. Mungo’s.” Rose held her head down. “I know I should have gotten her first, but I was so upset that Jamie did that, and laughing about it.”
“I don’t fault you for being upset but you know better. No quidditch this weekend for you. A small consequence for how you acted instead of going to get Aunt Ginny should be sufficient punishment. Besides, your wrist will be sore for a day or two anyway, I reckon, hitting Jamie with the beater’s bat.”
“Yes, Mum.”
Hermione looked up at her quiet husband. “What are we going to do about Jamie? This isn’t the first time he’s been a toerag towards Hugo.”
The fireplace roared to life and Ginny was inside the flames. “The Healers are finished with Jamie. Can we come through? He needs to know what his punishment is for what he did today.”
Ron and Hermione shared a look, not bothering to look at Rosie. “Come on through,” they said in unison.
The fireplace roared high inside the hearth and Albus stepped through first, followed by a tidier Jamie, followed by Ginny holding Lily Luna to her chest. His face was still bruised but his nose was fixed and the blood removed from his shirt. Within moments they were all free of dust and so was the den. “We won’t be staying long. Jamie has a very long list of things he has to do as punishment for what happened today.”
“It wasn’t intentional. I was aiming for Rose. I -“
“Enough, James!,” Ginny’s voice was quiet, dangerous, and one that no one wanted to cross.
“Did you tell Hugo he could come outside with you?” Ron asked first.
“Well, yeah, at first. Mum had been outside and it was nice and then mum went inside for a minute and Hugo was having fun on his toy broom while Rosie and I were playing Quidditch.”
“He’s six years old, James.” Hermione’s voice brooked no insolence. “He isn’t to ride his broom without supervision, ever. Did you not understand that?”
“No,” his voice grew quiet. “Mum said it was OK. I didn’t think – “
“No, you didn’t. You didn’t see Al or Lils on their brooms, did you?”
“No,” he said again. “But he had been riding earlier so I thought it was ok.”
Ron stood before James, towering over the lad. He was in his Auror stance, looking like he was ready to fight with his bare hands. “Why did you hit the bludgers at Rosie? I gave your parents that set, as a gift when you turned two.” Ron huffed. “I know that set. Grandpa, Uncle George, and I charmed it so the bludgers wouldn’t be brutal unless you hit the bludger with a bat. The first time you hit that bludger with a bat, it disabled the charm.”
“We’ve done it before. No one got hurt - “
“It’s no excuse, James,” Ginny said. “You know the rules - no beater bats unless an adult is outside with you. It’s one reason why you’re being punished - for being reckless while playing.”
“Didn’t you bother to see that Hugo was in the way?” Ron’s Auror voice had come out. “Do you think it’s funny picking on him? We know this isn’t the first time he’s not tattled on you. He’s six years old. He’s a child compared to you.”
“I wasn’t aiming at him. It was an accident - “
Ron took a step forward. James backed up into his Mum, standing almost as tall as her at 11. “An accident is you falling off your broom. An accident is dropping a glass of pumpkin juice because you weren’t paying attention. No, you chose to swing the beater’s bat and hit it at Rosie, even if you didn’t intend it to hit Hugo, it did, and it hurt him terribly.”
“I didn’t mean to! He was having fun with us, playing Quidditch.”
“Bollocks, James.” Ron’s temper seemed to be erupting. “He’s never expressed a moment’s interest in Quidditch, unlike Rosie. Didn’t you realize that?”
“No,” his voice was whiney. “We thought he - ”
“There’s no we to it, James,” Hermione cut in. “She says she told you she was landing to get a drink of juice and heard you laughing and saw the bludger hit Hugo in the head.”
“Bullying kids is never funny, James. Ever. It’s unacceptable behavior from anyone, much less you. I’d have thought better of you when it came to being kind to your cousins.”
“He doesn’t know,” Ginny said under her breath. “We’ve not told them.”
Ron crossed his arms but stood there looking ferocious. He spied Rose at the edge of the hallway, listening intently. Al and Lils were there with her.
“I’m sorry,” a small tear leaked out. He refused to look at any of the adults but stared at their shoes.
“I don’t think so, James,” Ron interrupted. “I don’t think you’re sorry for hurting Hugo. I know you’ve done it before and you were let off with a warning. But not this time. No, this behavior is unacceptable in this family, but especially from you. You’re eleven and starting Hogwarts in a month. You’ve gotten your letter and are expected to have some level of maturity, even for your age. Mistreating small kids is behavior that other toerags do,” Ron snorted before hearing Malfoy under Hermione’s breath.
“He’s already grounded for the next month, Ron,” Ginny added. “But beyond that is up to you and Hermione.
“What do you think, Hermione?”
She turned back to her Godson. “James, look at me.” He looked up but refused to make eye contact. “I said look at me, James Sirius Potter.” He finally did and Hermione saw the fear on his face. “You hurt Hugo. He’s in his bed asleep and can’t come to play at all for the next two weeks because of your mindless behavior. He might need longer to recover from your thoughtless actions. You picked on him for whatever reason, after we as a family have told everyone that he’s to be treated a certain way. And yet you, for some reason that isn’t important now, decided to be careless around him. We already know he’s not told on you for previous things because he adores you, or did, and didn’t want you to get into trouble.
“But you are in deep trouble now.”
He shuddered slightly.
“But I also think that you aren’t sorry for what you did, only that it was worse than you expected and got in trouble for it. No, you chose to hit those bludgers in his direction intentionally. Whether you were aiming for Rosie or Hugo doesn’t matter. Your impulsiveness hurt someone. I’d be furious if you had hurt Rosie, too.”
‘I’m – “
“Don’t say you’re sorry until you actually mean it,” Ginny spat. “You’re only sorry for the consequences impacting you.” She took a deep breath and let it out. “Go home and get me your broom. Now.”
“Mum?” James looked at her. “My broom? What are you going to do?”
“You’re already in trouble. Questioning my judgment will make it ten times worse. Go get your broom, now, James.”
He ran for the fireplace and tossed floo powder into it, disappearing in the green flames.
“What do you have in mind?” Ron asked.
Ginny stood there pondering a moment. “Until he shows some real maturity, I think losing any and all flying privileges on his broom will suffice. He will hand over his broom to you and so he can’t nick it like I used to do when no one was looking. I also think that it might be smart that he is not able to try out for the house team for a couple of years.:
Ron took a deep breath, like he’d been holding it in. “If he thinks he can get away with tosser behaviour this should break it for good. Merlin knows how relentless Fred and George were to me.”
Ginny’s eyes narrowed. “Let’s make it two years.” She turned to look at the window next to the fireplace. A small sigh escaped. “I’ll owl Minerva this weekend and let her know. Not being allowed to try out until he’s a little older would be a benefit. First years aren’t allowed to try out anyway so two years will make him the start of his third year so he should be mature enough. If not we can have it extended.”
“Ok.” Ron slumped slightly. “Hermione can decide on when he’s allowed to use his broom again. I won’t interfere.”
“Neither will I,” Ginny added.
James ran back through the fire to where he handed it to his Mum. Ginny turned and handed it to Hermione.
“James, for hurting Hugo – “
“I didn’t – “
“Yes, you did. I’ve seen it before. I watched you with Fred laughing when Hugo was being picked on.”
“I’m sorry,” he whimpered.
“No, if you were you’d have not done it.” Hermione’s fierce stare made him bow his head. “We’ve discussed what is acceptable and what isn’t.”
“You don’t pick kids younger than you. I know we’ve taught you better.” Ron’s disappointment was evident.
Ginny stood there, resolute. “You’re grounded from flying for the rest of the summer. You’re also losing your broom until Aunt Hermione says you can have it back.”
He spun, facing his Mum. “No! That’s not fair!” He turned back around and saw his Uncle staring him down.
“Fair is following the rules set down – and that was that Hugo is to be protected, not picked on.” Ron gave a piercing look, freezing James’ protests. “Aunt Hermione and I will keep your broom, until you prove to us that you can follow the simplest of rules, of which is You don’t pick on Hugo – ever. You hurt him, James, and that’s not something that a mere I’m sorry will fix. So, until you prove it to us, you’re grounded from your boom. I know Rosie won’t share hers, not with what she’s heard.”
“No! Not my broom. It’s mine!”
“No, now it’s ours, until we decide to return it to you.”
“I am writing to Headmistress McGonagall, to tell her you will not be allowed to try out for the house teams for an additional year, since first years aren’t allowed to try out.”
“Two years!”
“You hit him twice, this time. The consequences for hurting Hugo and laughing about it should be severe.”
“We think that you need time to learn empathy, to treat those who you don’t respect with kindness, and respect, by not bullying them, ever.”
James let a sob out before covering his face and running for the fireplace. It flared for a moment before settling down.
The adults stood quietly for a moment with the rest of the kids present. “Rosie, go back to your room. We’ll be in shortly.” Rosie nodded before doing as asked.
“She was punished too, right?”
“We have. She’s grounded from her broom and quidditch, too. Just not as long, but for hitting Jamie afterward and not running to get you first.”
“Sounds fair,” Ginny looked at her other two kids. “How about we head home and the two of you can play more. Jamie will be grounded for quite some time. But you two know better than to pick on Hugo, right?” Two very enthusiastic nods were her answer.
“We’ll see you Sunday, even if you don’t come for Sunday lunch. Harry and I will pop over to have a few with you and bring leftovers if you don’t show.”
Ginny gave Hermione a hug and received a light pat on the shoulder from Ron before stepping to the fireplace hearth. “I am sorry for James’ behavior. He knows better and I know when Harry finds out, he’s going to blow his stack over it.” She looked at her two younger children. “It might also be time to sit this bunch down and explain a few things.” The adults shared a look.
“I’m sure once he knows everything about the consequences of the incident, he’ll calm down. We don’t want James turning into a toerag like Dudley was growing up.”
Ginny shook her head. “No, we don’t. Love to both of you and my nephew, too.” Al went first through the fireplace before Ginny pulled Lily Luna close to her and spun away in the flames.
After they left, Ron went to the cooling cabinet for a cold pumpkin juice and brought Hermione some water. “You think we were too hard on him? Two years is a very long time when you’re that young.”
“No, I think it’s just right. Ginny only banned him from Quidditch for the Summer and she only banned him from trying out for the house team until the start of his third year. She didn’t say he couldn’t fly on a family broom, only that we would hold his broom until he proved he’s mature enough to get it back. He’s free to fly but not on his prized possession or playing the sport he loves.”
Ron necked the bottle of his juice. “You think it will work?”
“I think it’s a fair and just punishment for hurting Hugo, even accidentally. We don’t want a repeat of the incident ever again.” Ron opened his arms and Hermione melted into the embrace, finally feeling the tension from everything that happened today melt. She stifled a sob but felt Ron’s arms tighten around her.
“Everything will sort itself out, Hermione. You’ll see.”
“I know.” They stayed hugging for a long while, both lost in their thoughts on their precious son.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 3/3
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ron Weasley
Characters: Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Original Muggle Character(s)
Additional Tags: Tumblr Prompt, Fluff and Angst, I tried anyway, even though this was the one non-fluff prompt lol, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Romantic Angst, i guess?, two dumbasses a locket and a stressed out priss, yeah - Freeform, Salazar Slytherin's Locket, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, bc... you know... the Locket, Horcrux Hunting, but like... they're failing at it, you know: canon, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, canon-adjacent except: Ronarry, So..., Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, but only like a smidge, Camping, Camping Trip of Doom, bc it is, Minor Original Character(s), ig, they're not like they're there... but they're not massively important ig?, Anyway that's it, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, dumb me forgot those tags anyway NOW that's it, Past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Past Lavender Brown/Ron Weasley, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, don't worry this is pretty purely Ronarry but bc it's canon compliant all the canon ships, at least had to be acknowledged so Do Not Worry about them they are Not what's going on here, harron all the way babey, as per the prompt
Series: Part 12 of Fic Ideas/Prompts/Tumblr Stuffs/One-shots, Part 2 of Camping Trip Of Doom: Canon-Adjacent Ronarry Flavour.
Summary:
livingincolorsagain asked:
"You'll find your way back to me, I know you will."
“Is it that hard to believe that I love you?”
"I'm not kissing you in the rain! We'll catch our death!"
---
Pick apart
The pieces of your heart
And let me peer inside
Let me in
Where only your thoughts have been
Let me occupy your mind
As you do mine
Your heart's a mess
You won't admit to it
It makes no sense
But I'm desperate to connect
You can't live like this
- 'Hearts A Mess', by Gotye.
