Chapter Text
Doctor Mary Granger had always prided herself on being a level headed individual; this trait went hand in hand with her chosen field of dentistry. One needed a certain level of patience when one dealt with patients who viewed their profession as closer to an undertaker than a healthcare professional. Compartmentalizing was key when she had to get the job done in spite of the stubborn tenacity of several individuals who were absolutely convinced she was a danger to their lives and not to their growing collection of cavities.
It was that ironclad will, the same one that kept her sane when that one disturbed adult attempted to bite her arm during a routine filling, that kept her from doing something absurd in the middle of the Jardin du Luxembourg.
For instance, Mary seriously entertained the idea of a mental breakdown because her almost two year old, her Hermione was in a tree. And not some low hanging branch, either. No, her baby was a good fifteen feet off the ground and the only thing that kept the tiny brunette from a fall to her death was the unrelenting grip of the child’s kidnapper.
Who, if the kidnapper’s grandmother was to be believed, was also nearly four years old. In fact, she spoke of the tidbit of information with pride as if they were in a discussion about their children over a relaxing cup of tea and not in avoidance over how her granddaughter plucked Hermione from her stroller and had somehow managed to climb onto a tall branch of a decent sized oak.
There was a notable tic above Mary’s eye when she was told of the fact. When the close to hyperventilating mother asked why this was important to their situation, Celestia Delacour smiled in a way that spoke of years of experience with children in trees.
« Why, it makes them closer in age, non? »
There was a little part of the close-to-distraught mother that wished she wasn’t so fluent in the French language, then she could arguably blame her frustration on the inability to communicate well enough with the woman opposite of her. It was quite unfortunate, but her husband would only laugh and point out her perfectionist nature and her mastery of four other Romance languages to remind her of why that was impossible. Thus, her frustration was with the unflappable woman who claimed to be a grandmother but looked like she was nowhere near thirty-five.
Instead of answering, Mary forced her attention to the happenings at the base of the tree as opposed to her admittedly content daughter’s place far above them. Tybalt Granger, her unfortunately named husband, was in the midst of another attempt to coax Fleur and Hermione down from the tree alongside Celestia’s son-in-law Garen.
« Fleur Isabelle Delacour, come down this instant with little Hermione! This is not what I meant when I said we’d go to the park so you can make friends! » Although Garen sounded properly admonishing, he admittedly looked ridiculous as he whipped about the long baguette in his hand like a baton at his daughter. As if the blonde child was in agreement with Mary’s observation of the girl’s baguette wielding father, Fleur shook her head and ignored the order with a voracity of someone who was just told that they were to give up their favorite teddy bear for the untold future.
« Non! ‘Ermione is my bestest friend and I will not let you take her away from me! »
« You officially saw her, » There was a quick glance at Tybalt’s watch, as Garen didn’t regularly carry one. « Fifteen minutes ago, for the first time I might add! »
« Don’t care! » This was accentuated by a loud and unladylike raspberry from the girl, which quickly earned her a giggle from the little brunette. Hermione, to both her parents’ amazement, didn’t seem to care about her precarious position high up in a public tree and seemed to enjoy the blonde child’s company regardless of their relatively short acquaintance. Tybalt, in spite of his odd dance far below the branch that the girls had perched themselves on, had a look of awe on his face.
“Mary! Look at that! I’ve never seen Hermione take to someone so fast before.”
“As amazing as that is, Tyb, I would very much like my daughter out of that tree.”
“Oh, right-”
“NOW, Tybalt!” At this point, Mary was feeling quite faint. There was only so much patience and understanding that a normal mother could have in this situation. The fact that she was only a touch lightheaded and not in full out hysterics was a miracle in and of itself. It was only a moment after being nudged into a chair that she realized she now sat in a rather comfortable chaise that was better placed in an upper class living room than in the middle of a park in Paris.
« Now now, I’m sure that your husband and my son-in-law will get the girls out of the tree just fine. » Within a blink of having sat down, Mary found the peculiar woman perched on the right armrest of the chair, a calming rhythmic rub on her shoulder being provided by the older blonde. « There’s no reason to give yourself a worse headache, no? »
Under normal circumstances Mary would find a comfortable seat and a well placed massage to be just a cup of tea short of paradise.
This was far from normal circumstances. Actually, if she really thought about it, it was far from normal. Period.
First and foremost, her daughter was and still is in a tree. About fifteen feet up, in a branch far above their heads. Second, was how Fleur managed to take Hermione out of the baby stroller and somehow climbed said tree the minute her husband managed to cajole her into taking a picture. The only reason that Mary saw it happen at all was because she was facing Tybalt and the stroller for the picture when the blonde blur appeared and practically flew up into the foliage.
Third was the fact that in spite of the ridiculous shouting match between Garen and his daughter, no one around them seemed to realize that there were two little girls in a sodding tree. A cursory glance around them further revealed just how oblivious all of the people there were to the odd predicament taking place in the very much so public place. And despite the fact that there were a fair number of both locals and tourists in the area, there was not a single rubbernecker in the vicinity.
It was as if they were invisible to the public eye.
Mary wasn’t even going to address the beautiful, out of place lounge furnishing that had suddenly appeared. Something this comfortable, she decided, should be allowed a pass on logic. After all, there were other things for her nitpick at - why bother the one thing that seemed to help her as opposed to stress her out?
Like the infuriating grandmother who seemed to have all the answers but was less than forthcoming.
As if sensing the questions about to be rained upon her person, Celestia halted her with another one of her all knowing smiles and a shake of her head.
« I understand you have questions, but I think it’d be best if I answer them in a more comfortable environment. Possibly with a cup of tea or coffee to go alongside them. »
Before Mary could point out that she was quite comfortable in this chair and it was unlikely they were going anywhere soon with both girls still astride a branch in the middle of the Jardin du Luxembourg, she heard a gasp from her husband. Her neck spun towards the source so fast that she nearly gave herself whiplash, but what nearly pushed her over the edge was the sight of her daughter. Fleur and Hermione were noticeably still on the piece of foliage, but the branch itself was no longer attached to the tree in question. In fact, it wasn’t attached to anything at all. It simply floated, without any visible aid, in midair. Garen had long since relinquished his baguette to Tybalt, and instead wielded what looked to be an actual baton of a wooden nature. He had it pointed towards the physics defying branch, and where he pointed the branch went.
Her husband, the brilliant man that he was, asked the one question he assumed was on everyone’s minds.
« Isn’t that branch public property? »
It was a wonder the man was an oral surgeon with an IQ of 156. In spite of the force of her palm hitting her face, Mary reminded herself that this was the father of her child and that she loved him a great deal. Garen simply smiled and struck a pose, which caused the girls to enter another giggle fit atop their trusty floating steed.
« I claim this branch in the name of the Delacour clan! » The impressive twinkle in his smile and the thumbs up that he gave his audience of five was met with more giggling from the little ones and an impressed clap from her easily amused husband. The two women, on the other hand, merely looked on as if they weren’t quite sure that the man was serious.
« I apologize on behalf of my son-in-law, » Celestia deadpanned, after deciding that yes, he was serious. « He is English. » As if his origins explained the entirety of his absurd behaviour.
“Well, um… we’re English as well.” Mary mentioned carefully, torn between being insulted on behalf of her home country or wondering if the older woman was onto something. After all, in spite of being on the verge of a mental breakdown for the past twenty minutes, Mary had taken everything thus far better than she would’ve originally thought. That either spelled an impressive mental fortitude or there was clearly something wrong with her.
The older blonde merely blinked, and without a single pause proceeded to pat the younger woman’s hand in condolence.
“I am sorry for your loss.” Mary opened her mouth as if to reply but she decided against it. Instead she sagged against the back of the most comfortable chair she had ever sat upon and closed her eyes before she asked.
“You mentioned tea?”
-oOo-
Tea was soon found at a nearby abandoned warehouse that smelled as if a large contingent of rats had gathered only to die soon after. Or at least, that’s what Le Café en Argent initially looked and smelled like before Celestia and Garen took the baffled couple by the hands. As if a hazy filter had been removed, the beautiful building revealed itself to be filled with a colorful assortment of people there to mingle or indulge in a light meal. Plates filled with sandwiches or pastries magically floated to their assigned tables, twinkling balls of light floated in the air much like the shrunken branch that Garen had insisted on keeping before he pocketed it, and silver flower fixtures that grew and bloomed in intervals of five minutes adorned every table.
Needless to say, when the Delacours decided to reveal to Doctors Granger and Granger that magic was indeed real, they found themselves with little to no resistance in the explanation. After everything they had seen in the park, and now in the cafe, there was little the couple could argue before deciding that they were not being hoodwinked in some way and that they had indeed stumbled upon a completely different world and culture from their own.
No one could argue that the Granger family was, if nothing else, open minded.
What Mary and Tybalt found harder to swallow was that their daughter, their Hermione , was also an unwitting resident of this world.
« So let me get this straight, our daughter is a witch? » Since their hosts were kind enough to answer all their questions, and since Mary and Tybalt were well versed in the language anyway, they had agreed to have the entire conversation in French. Thankfully, the two adult Delacours were incredibly patient with the young couple, as they had explained everything from the statute of secrecy to the frequencies of accidental magic in young magical children.
Like Hermione, for instance.
« Yes, if Hermione was old enough to grasp her surroundings, she would have immediately seen this building for what it was and not the warehouse you both were initially privy to. » Celestia answered back before she took a sip of her coffee, careful to keep the hot beverage far above the head of her grandchild who sat nestled in her lap for a light nap. Fleur had resisted being separated from her new ‘best friend’ at first, but the excitement from the past hour alongside her unwitting use of accidental magic to snatch Hermione and scale the tree eventually tuckered the poor girl out.
« And even though we’re both… muggles, » A nod of confirmation from the two encouraged Mary that she had not botched the pronunciation of the word. « She’s still magical? And you’re sure of this how? »
« Oh, muggleborn witches and wizards are quite normal. No one’s absolutely sure of why, but they tend to crop up no matter what blood purists like Voldemort do or say. » The sneer on Garen’s face when he mentioned Voldemort told the Grangers quite a bit about this blood purist. The normally light hearted man was clearly not a fan. Another half hour of questions and answers revealed that there was a civil war going on back home in the UK, which all revolved around a sadistic, self stylized ‘Dark Lord’ with a thing against muggles and muggleborns. Soon, Mary had a small headache and a much larger sense of paranoia. Someone wanted to kill her baby girl just because her parents were ‘undesirable muggles.’ It was like the terrifying stories her grandmother used to tell of the Nazi concentration camps, an unfortunate experience that the poor woman went through just because of her gypsy upbringing.
Except this wasn’t the 1940’s, this was 1981 and the threat wasn’t a reminder in stories it was real and at home-
A steady hand ripped her from her thoughts before they could fully spiral out of control. There were very few times that found Mary out of her depth, but when those times happened she was quite happy that she found someone who anchored her as well as Tybalt did. As the man rubbed calming circles into his wife’s hand with his thumb, he looked towards the family that flipped his and his wife’s world.
« So, Garen, know any good realtors? » Before Garen could reply, Mary tugged on her husband’s hand in surprise and barely managed to choke out the words in English as she was too baffled to even think to speak the other language.
“Wait, Tyb, what about the practice? You were in talks to be a partner!” He simply shrugged in reply, as if the decision to completely uproot their lives wasn’t as big a deal as his wife made it out to be.
“You and I were thinking about starting our own together anyway,” Tybalt looked over at Hermione who was happily asleep in her stroller. Mary clearly noticed his attention shift to their daughter and she gave him an understanding squeeze to his hand. “Why not in a country that’s safer for her?”
If either of the Delacours noticed her tears of awe for this amazing man, neither commented on it, much to Mary’s relief.
Much later, the two families had decided that the Grangers had more than enough information to digest upon and had opted to meet again in the next few days when they were ready. But before they could separate, Mary remembered one last question that she had forgotten to ask earlier.
« I meant to ask, why was Fleur so intent on Hermione? » It took all of her ironclad willpower to not roll her eyes at Celestia’s all too familiar smile. Granted, after everything today it had become more endearing than infuriating. The older blonde woman eyed her sleeping granddaughter as well as the brunette asleep in her stroller before she answered.
« They have a connection, a bond, that transcends many things in life. » As vague as that answer was, Mary had a distinctive feeling she knew where this conversation would lead to. It only vaguely disturbed her that the only reason she had an inkling of what it could be was due to her fanciful predilection for inane romance stories.
« Wait, do you mean…? » Celestia shook her head, her eyes promised a lifetime of stories but they were clearly meant for another time.
« You and your husband have had too much information to think upon. Next time, if you feel up for it, I will explain. »
After all, as the Grangers found out at a much later time, a story of Soulmates and Veela was one much deserving of a lunch date of its own.