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“Of all the places in the world, why did my brother’s junky car have to get a flat tire in the middle of bumfuck nowhere?” Ginny’s exclamation broke Hermione from her rather pleasant daydream about a mysterious man reading poetry to her.
She tried to shake the image of the dark-haired stranger with a scarred face from her mind. “Don’t insult his baby, Gin.” She smiled impishly at her friend. “She’s taken us all over the country; we’ve had some adventures with sweet Muriel here.” She tapped the back of the car. “Some wild ones. Haven’t we, missy?” she cooed.
The redhead rolled her eyes. “You may be a world-famous model, but you’re still a weirdo at heart.” In reply, Hermione stuck her tongue out. “How classy, Granger.” Luna, the other member of the quartet, just snorted; she was next to Ginny, watching the quiet road in front of them.
“Will you two knock it off for one minute?” Ron, the aforementioned brother, grumbled. He was inspecting one of the front tires, which had indeed gone flat. “I hate to say it, y’all, but I don’t think I can fix this one. My donut tire won’t be enough to take us all the way to the hotel.” He stood up and stretched out his arms. “And Ginevra, we’re not in the boonies. We’re doing the shoot at a famous location, and they’re not charging us a single cent. I’d say that’s a win-win.”
“I meant to ask earlier,” Hermione picked up the book she was reading – before the daydream had interrupted – and fanned herself with it. “What exactly is the location, anyway? It’s a shop but you never said what it sells. All we know is that The Marauder’s Map is recognized the world over; this gig was something you wanted for a while.”
“I think I can answer that question,” a new and accented voice broke in. Hermione startled, nearly dropping the book. When she turned around to see the speaker, her eyes widened. A tall man with wild black hair and spectacles stood not too far from the group; her eyes were immediately drawn to the lightning bolt shaped scar above his left eye. His scruffy face didn’t distract her from his brilliant green gaze. Hermione swallowed hard and looked away. “I saw your car driving in. You’re with that modeling agency, right?”
“Got it in one. And you must be Harry Potter! The owner of such a fine establishment,” Ron gestured towards a nearby building. A building, Hermione now saw with a sense of awe, that looked both majestic and cozy. A small but elegant sign above the door read The Marauder’s Map. “My name’s Ron Weasley. These wonderful gals are my sister Ginny, Luna,” he nodded his head at them, “and Hermione. We’re so happy you agreed to let us do the photoshoot at your store.” He clapped his hands in glee. “It feels like we’re on holy ground.”
Harry chuckled. “It’s no problem. The thing was my Uncle Sirius’ idea, really, before he gave me the shop.”
“Uncle Sirius?” Ron squeaked. He quickly cleared his throat, ignoring Ginny and Hermione’s amused smirks. “As in Sirius Black? The man who gave the greatest writers and poets of the era a space to create and express freely, that Sirius?” His shock was quickly turning to admiration, much to Hermione’s dismay.
Hermione couldn’t believe her ears. “You don’t mean that Harry is actually –” She couldn’t picture the solemn and ridiculously attractive man connected to the infamous rebel, even if it wasn’t by blood. On second thought…appearances can deceive.
“Yes, he is, and no, I didn’t mean to hide that from you. We’ll talk later,” Ginny waved off her friend’s glare. Hermione sighed but stayed silent.
“The one and the same,” Harry answered Ron’s question with a bashful smile. “Sirius is a bit of an artist himself. Then he got tired of the consumerism in the art world – his words, not mine – and wanted to write and paint on his own terms. Remus, his husband, encouraged him too.”
“Remus Lupin?” Hermione blurted before she could stop herself. “The man published in countless journals and books about his work with quantum mechanics? He’s absolutely brilliant! I read his piece in New Journal of Physics the other day,” She gushed, not seeing Ron’s scowl.
Instead of being insulted or angry, Harry laughed. “You know my uncles and their interests much better than I do, ma’am,” he quirked an eyebrow. “I didn’t think Remus’ theories would be interesting to a worldly person like you.”
“Just because I model for a living doesn’t mean I’m brainless,” Hermione snapped. This seemed to amuse Harry; his eyes sparkled.
“I meant you’re busy flying or driving most of the time, trying to be skinny and small when beauty standards are absolute bullshit, doing runways in Paris, Milan, London...” He shrugged. “Where would you fit in time for reading science journals?”
Hermione sniffed. “When I’m jet lagged and can’t sleep, or want to do some research…” Since modeling won’t last forever, she didn’t say. She saw Ron making an undecipherable gesture and realized her conversation with Harry had become a spectacle. “So, you’re letting us shoot here, where can we start?” The abrupt topic change didn’t escape Harry’s attention; he narrowed his eyes.
“You can start wherever you like,” he replied flatly. “Luckily the store isn’t open today, so you don’t have to worry about customers going in and out and interrupting. Or maybe tomorrow, once we get Ron’s car fixed I’ll show you all the grounds. You don’t have to do your shoot inside; I know books aren’t exactly a glamourous backdrop.” This last part was a bit sardonic.
Hermione strongly disagreed with that statement. “Models learn to adjust to any and every situation,” she said breezily. “It’s part of the job. We can adapt. Weather changes, wardrobe malfunctions, accessories not coordinating, you name it. Being surrounded by books and memorabilia is far from the worst backdrop I’ve had.”
Harry scoffed. “If you say so.” He waved his hand, then turned to Ron. “If you want, I can call my friend to come out and see what’s wrong with the car. His garage is nearby.”
“Nothing’s wrong with it, it’s only a flat tire,” Ron said, somewhat sheepishly. “And my donut tire isn’t strong enough to take us to the hotel. We’re staying at the Royal Everest.”
Harry shook his head. “No need. We have space at the store – well, in the retreat area my uncle set up. I didn’t really touch it unless there was a need for upgrades. Seriously, though, I can ring Neville and he’ll be here in less than ten minutes.”
“Maybe we can stay here tonight, if you have enough room,” Ron agreed. “And we’ll be in town for a week, so if you can call your friend at some point…”
Harry nodded. “No problem. Once you get your bags, I can take you to the cabins.”
“You heard the man,” Ron faced Ginny, Luna, and Hermione. “We can come back for the props and cameras later. Do the essentials.”
They all retrieved their bags from the car and followed Harry, who was waiting patiently by the store. There was a trail right near the shop, which they used to get to the retreat area.
Hermione couldn’t help but survey the man currently acting as their guide. Beyond his appearance, something about him intrigued her. While he knew she was a famous model, he hadn’t shown starry-eyed awe at her job. It had been the opposite; insulting the industry’s standards (with valid reason) and showing little to no interest in the glitz and jet-setting aspects. And he was the owner of a famous bookshop, one that was practically a historical landmark. She realized she was a little envious of him.
What would it be like, to be surrounded by books all day and never have to worry about looking runway perfect? To not bother about social media stats (or faking everything on Instagram)? To be free from media scrutiny and live life on her own terms, away from her toxic parents and their never-ending greed?
Hermione wanted – no, needed – to find out the answers to those questions.
And she had a hunch Harry Potter would be the one to provide them.