Archive of Our Own

Two weeks ago, give or take…

It’d been a long time since Paul had heard his wife chewing someone out over the phone. Not since early in her career, he imagined. Hermione preferred to do this face to face, which became easier once she gained office and gained an office.

Paul rarely had the opportunity to witness this anymore, but then neither did she when he did the same. She had her career and he, his. Both were quite successful, thank you very much. He had a series of bestseller science books, respect in his academic fields, and frequent appearances on programmes when they needed an expert. His wife… well, she had a navy.

Paul’d not been meaning to listen in on her early morning call to Potter. He himself was having a pleasant chat with Potter’s Executive Assistant. It had been hard not to hear the beginning, however, when a very un-PM Hermione Granger had lit into him. Paul followed bits and pieces after that, not too difficult as he’d grown accustomed to picking out her voice amidst cheering crowds.

“‘Never happened before.’ Yes, of course I’d like you to research it, Harry! Have there ever been wand users in the residence, in the Prime Minister’s family or anyone else living here? It’s all I can think of.”

Paul knew she’d be researching the same via ‘acquaintances.’ He kept proposing names for her quite off-the-books network of mutual favours and intelligence gathering, only to be shot down with dismissive, if loving, glares. The Downing Street Diagonals was his current favourite.

“You do that. And thanks, sorry I’m still a bit on edge. I don’t care how important he was as a former Minister, he’s out and he better not return. I’ll not have anyone frightening the children. Ever.”

In that, he was in total agreement. If it had been irritating annoyances limited to either himself or Hermione; well that was almost to be expected. The children were off limits. They’d made that adamantine to the press, when Hermione’d returned to work after Robby.

“The painting? Tucked away. I’ve arranged for a duplicate as Robby and Jeanie loved the horses. Ditto for the office portrait too now that it’s empty. Can’t make changes to that as it’s been featured in too many official photographs.”

A step ahead, as she often was. Paul had been ready to carve both up and chuck them into the bin. The kids liked the painting in Robby’s room, and actually so did he. Provided it stayed 100% equine.

“We will certainly discuss them and their future, Harry, and not today. Their lives have been disrupted enough this week.”

Yes, today was going to be interesting once the two wake up. Mummy had a special demonstration planned for them. He’d be driving over to pick up the special demonstration accessory shortly.

Paul wrapped up his own call as Hermione did the same.

“Chequers, Harry, it’s called Chequers Court. 1500 acres surrounding the manor house; plenty of space, plenty of privacy. When would be good for you and yours, Ron’s too? That will work. And no minister talk, agreed. Harry! Certainly not, you prat, don’t make me regret this already! We’ll see you soon. Bye.”

She walked in from the study wearing an exasperated grin. “He wants to call it the ‘Golden Trio Twentieth Anniversary Reunion Concert.’”

That got a laugh. That shiny, unwelcome title had certainly been used enough in the Prophet, notably after the war. “How about ‘The Brightest Witch and her Minions’ instead?” he tossed back.

His wife replied with a mock glare and an accent pillow. Paul was about to throw it back, and possibly then throw someone back into bed, when they heard the sounds of the two most important people in their lives rising.

Right. Time to arrange for the demonstration. It should be fascinating. He’d known Hermione for, what, two decades. Two decades, and he’d never seen her use magic.

The old handbag had been exactly where Hermione’d said it would be. Precisely. He could have found it in the attic with his eyes closed, merely using her detailed directions to its location.

Hermione was up in their room, laying out a few small objects on the bed. Books, cutlery, candles. Demonstration aids.

Paul held out the bag and she hesitated for a second. Then it was in her hands, and the thin layer of accumulated dust slid away like quicksilver. Once open, she gave a sigh and reached inside. Deep inside. Her entire arm fished about, eyes furrowed in concentration, until…

“Ah. There you are.” Hermione let the bag fall to the bed, a length of pale vine wood now in her hand. The only other wand he’d ever seen up close had been his father’s, made of English oak.

“Damn.” Her expression turned unsettled. “I can feel it purring, like Crooksie did.”

They’d gone back and forth on a wandless demonstration, at the end deciding to save that for after if needed. Paul felt good about the choice; in his view, a wand was a signature part of their magical heritage. Which, for better or worse, it seemed they had.

Her wand held the same, judging from the practice charms she performed. Effortless gestures, softly whispered words, perfect intonations, flawless spellwork. “I wasn’t entirely certain it would come back,” she said finally. “I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted it to, either.”

“Hey.” Paul pulled her in tight. “You’re still you. Still the bushy-haired, know-it-all law geek from school I fell for.” He could feel Hermione nod into his chest. “You can do this. Nothing’s going to ever change who you are.”

They called Robby and Jeanie in, locked the door, and piled onto the bed in a big circle. Both children were a combination of puzzled and bored. Then Professor Granger started the lesson.

“What we’re going to tell you, and show you, isn’t make-believe. It isn’t a trick. It’s real.” She took a deep breath. “Now watch carefully.”

Then Hermione waved her wand. And they stopped being bored.

Forks and knives curtseyed and waltzed across the bedding. A book opened, and warm blue flames emerged from between pages of dancing letters. Candles floated into the air and were lit sequentially while tiny sparks flittered through the room. Spoons turned into mice, mice into cats, cats into dogs, and dogs into spoons.

Finally, the demonstration aids drifted into a neat stack on a nearby dresser. “This isn’t a magic show,” Paul told their wide-eyed offspring. “Not like on television. That was true magic your mother did.”

“Mummy…” Jeanie began, “is… a witch?”

Paul saw his wife almost chuckle at that. “Clever girl. I am. I don’t do magic anymore, however.” Hermione drew them in close, face to face. “This is the biggest secret I have. That your Daddy has as well. Now you know too. You can’t tell anyone, understand? No one, not a soul, not unless we say it’s okay.”

Robby said, “Daddy knew?”

“Daddy knew. He’s always known. As do your grandparents.”

“Magic exists. Not as a make-believe story or fairy tale. Magic is a secret, a big one.” Paul added. “Maybe the biggest one. And you both have magic. What you two did last night with the painting, that was magic.”

“Wowww…” they said slowly in unison.

“Wow indeed,” Hermione said. “That’s the other secret you need to keep, that all of us need to keep.”

“Not just three of you,” Paul said. “There are other people who have magic, too. They live in a hidden part of Britain. They use magic for everything. No electricity, no automobiles, no Tube. No mobiles, no television, no internet.”

Mutual horrified gasps at that. “No internet!” Paul kept from laughing, barely. He knew this would get their attention.

“Your Mum went to school there, so she could learn about magic.” No mention of wars and Hermione’s extracurricular activities. Not yet, at least.

“Then your Mummy came here. Met your Daddy. Had two wonderful children.” Hermione pulled them in and reached for Paul to join the group hug. “I left magic behind, and I got a family. I got you! I wouldn’t trade any it for a single second of magic. Understand? You, all of you, you’re all I ever wanted out of life.”

There were multiple sniffles. “I’ll always have magic,” she continued after wiping her eyes. “So will you. You get to decide if you want it in your lives. Not now,” before they could respond. “You have years to decide.”

“The magic school?” Robby asked. “Decide if we want to go there or not?”

“That, and more.” Despite Potter’s words, neither felt Hogwarts was adequate. It might teach magic; he never went, of course so didn’t have an opinion. His parents did. As did Hermione. Oh, did she. They knew it won’t teach about how to live in that world. Nor of the ethics or morality of magic.

There were years before a decision had to be made, thankfully. Years that allowed for a reasoned, deliberated decision. Not to be dumped on a frightened child and unprepared parents from out of the blue.

There were additional questions. And answers, as best the adults could provide. Along with stressed watchwords. Patience. Trust. Honesty. For the entire family.

“We’re here for you both, always,” Hermione said, holding their hands. “No matter what. Come to us with questions, like you already do. You will have lots of them, believe me. I had to go through the same. It’s a lot to find out suddenly.”

“We won’t always have ready answers.” Paul said, his own hands added. “We’ll work them out together.”

Robby and Jeanie solemnly nodded and brushed their hands with a smack. Paul had to blink hard to prevent leaks, and Hermione wasn’t much better. God, how he loved them.

Hermione sniffed and ruffled their hair. “We have a special treat planned as part of this. A visit to that country home we’ve mentioned, out north of the city. There’s going to be children there who also have magic. And their parents; they went to the magic school with me.”

The solemn faces evaporated to anticipation.

“Jeanie? Robby?” Twin sets of big eyes locked into Paul’s. “You’re not alone. You’re not weird or freaks. You’re the same as you were yesterday.” He got a confident response from each. “You’ve discovered a new side of yourselves, that’s all.”

His wife nodded with them. “And always remember. Your Mum and Dad love you so, so much.”

She did this so well, he thought. Like whatever she applied herself to. Witch. Politician. Wife. Mother.

There will be an informal lunch brought up so the conversation could continue. Paul could see her about to float her wand back into the bag, then didn’t. An exaggerated stretch and a loud groan to retrieve it, which the kids giggled at. They giggled louder as she placed the wand carefully inside, bag in the air so they could tell she wasn’t hiding her arm inside the bed. No magic tricks, just magic. They applauded, nonetheless.

The bag sat ignored on the bed while they ate. After the two launched into their homework, Hermione took his hand. Together, they tossed it into the closet, to be transferred back to the attic later that day.

Two weeks from then, give or take…

It was their first time coming here, and the kids were excited. More for the visitors than the setting, which received mixed reviews. Bit dull and stuffy on the inside. Outdoors, simply another park. On the plus side, there was excellent wi-fi.

It had largely fallen to Paul to continue their introduction to magic over this time. His work schedule was, to a large extent, quite flexible. Unlike Hermione’s, which among other things included running a country.

They talked about magical accidents and how to lessen the chances of further instances. A good many excuses, such as gusts of wind, loose stitches, bumped tables, and poor wiring, were reviewed. Also terminology, with Boggarts, Muggles, wands, and more explained.

They’d both thought ‘Muggle’ was silly, God love them, and declared that henceforth people using wands would be called ‘Wuggles.’ Hermione’d loved it and proudly accepted a drawing of her with the words ‘Honorary Wuggle’ written at the bottom.

Now, the family was waiting near a wooded area outside the walls defining the interior grounds. There was a nice setup of tables and chairs, plus electrical outlets from underground cables. “Possibly Blair’s doing,” Hermione said.

She was setting out the victuals, he the drinks. The kids were grabbing snacks and helping but mostly grabbing snacks, when the air twisted like a high-speed kaleidoscope and two families arrived. A strong crack accompanied them, and Paul spoke a few words into his watch.

Hermione came quickly around the tables towards them, as three moved rapidly towards her, and they collided into a large mass. The fourth adult, the sole blonde… yes, that must be Lavender Weasley, Paul assumed. Plus five children, all older than his own. No robes; all were dressed in casual outdoors clothing. Perfect. They’d not been sure of that.

The mass didn’t appear in danger of breaking up, so he went to the person he’d met before, albeit on the phone. “Lavender? I’m Paul.”

The smile lit up the scarred face, and she met him halfway. A handshake turned into a hug. “So good to see you in person! And call me Lav!” Then she pulled back and waved the young ones over. “Alicia and Russell are mine and Ron’s,” and two dark-haired kids, about the same age, waved at him. “James, Albus, and Lily, you can guess.” Two brunets (one with a large satchel, one with glasses) and a fiery redhead also waved.

“Robby? Jeanie?” His own walked from the tables to his side and studied the newcomers curiously, before…

“Ahoy there, mateys!” from Robby.

“Avast ye scallywags!” from Jeanie. “There be booty to be had on yonder table!”

Oh Good Lord, they were still at it.

Russell looked up to Lavender, troubled. “Mum, is this a Muggle thing?”

“Arrrgh!” his pirates cried stridently. “There be no talk of Muggles or Wuggles today, me hearties,” Robby cried. “For this is,” and they raised their hands…

“Talk Like a Pirate Day!” There was a third voice included, and they looked at the brunet in glasses. “What? The Muggle-borns in my house brought it up last week. Everyone thought it was terrific.”

“Mine too,” the redhead added after a tic. “We’ve been working on pirate snake costumes to wear on Monday.”

Looking back, Paul believed this was one of the moments that led to the Granger-Lennox children attending Hogwarts. Ripples that changed the world.

“Booty, aye?” the eldest said experimentally, and the two veteran pirates eagerly escorted the novice sailors to snack-laden tables. Paul could hear fizzy drinks popping open.

“They didn’t say a word,” Lavender said softly from beside him. Paul turned to her. Ah. Her face.

“We didn’t think we were supposed to,” came Jeanie’s voice from behind them. She had a napkinned Scotch egg in each hand and held out one to Lavender. “Or needed to. You’re wicked cool.” Then she was back at the table, pointing out foodstuffs that the visiting pirates had never seen before.

“You are.” His wife’s own voice was, as ever, impossible for him to mistake. “Hullo, Lav.”

The mass had separated into constituent people. “Hermione,” was the tentative response. “Good to see you again.” No halfway, his wife strode firmly to her and embraced the blonde.

Paul walked to the three observing fondly. “You must be Paul,” the male redhead said. “I must,” he replied. “And you must be,” and Paul points them one by one. “Ron. Harry. Ginevra.” That got laughs from two and an “Oi!” from the third.

“Hermione’s arranged for a solid spread. Assuming the kids have left anything.” His turn to escort, with Hermione and Lav bringing up the rear, hand in hand.

“Speaking of spreads, not a bad little place you’ve got here ’Mione.”

The Prime Minister looked across green fields and fond friends. “It never greatly appealed to me. Until now.”

The kids hadn’t devoured everything, which is good as the actual lunch items hadn’t been put out yet. After further introductions, they quickly scampered off to the open fields with footballs (the proper association kind) and footballs (the ovoid oddities that the Americans favour) which Paul had brought. Also… were those Bludgers? And bats?

“Don’t worry,” GinevraGinny said. “Feels like the real thing, hits like a pygmy puff. Bats are the same. George removed the flying charms for today.” She gave him a close appraisal. “Quidditch fan, are you? Not like your lovely, exceedingly swotty wife?”

“That I am. Attended matches religiously as a child.”

“He devours the Prophet for the sports pages.” Probably the single factually correct area of coverage, they agreed.

“Hermione… doesn’t.”

A round of chuckles. “And here we were worried you’d changed, ’Mione.”

“Prats. Each of you. I’ll have you know I quite appreciate American baseball. Discovered it whilst serving as Ambassador.” Paul took in the unbelieving expressions. “Oh, I don’t play. Utterly ridiculous and tedious. For discussing politics and hammering out trade deals without interruption, however, can’t be beat.” Now they believe her.

“What in Merlin’s name are they doing?” Lav was pointing to the field, where each of the balls were in play in a jumbled mishmash of athleticism. Kicked, thrown, beaten, passed, and few actions as part of the rules (or sport) associated with that ball. Plenty of yelling and shouting, however, all of it joyful.

“They’re having fun,” Harry said simply. Paul could feel Hermione’s head resting on his shoulder, and Lav was doing the same for Ron.

“Hang on. Hermione, is this okay?” he continued. “I mean us appearing like this, extra children running about? You said not to worry, but I did the reading and yes, I do that on occasion. Aren’t there checkpoints and sign-in sheets and identification verifications?”

Hermione had that look that Paul loved to see, usually reserved for when she was about to reveal a clever debate tactic. “You did indeed, Harry, well done and you’re absolutely correct. Except I made special arrangements for special security personnel on the grounds.” She rose towards the coolers plugged into the outlets.

“They know about magic. I didn’t reveal it to them, and neither did Paul. They’ve been part of my personal security detail for years, and are currently with Royalty and Specialist Protection. Paul’s been talking to them all day.”

Paul raised his watch hand, and tapped the thick band. “I gave them an all-clear sign when you cracked in. They’ll politely ignore everyone for the afternoon.”

Members of the network of shadowy associates his wife operated throughout Britain. And beyond. No need to bring it up as Harry looked like he’d figured that out. Lav too, probably.

Hermione held up a cold fizzy drink for assessment. “We also have beers plus tea and coffee. Lots of food… let’s save that one for lunch with the kids… and not the Madeira; that’s for afters with the cake and blondies from Paul’s mother.”

“Again, quite a spread, ’Mione.” Ron had somehow arranged sausage rolls, pork pies, mini-quiches, and samosas into an uneasy architectural structure on his plate. “And I know you said no magic today, except…”

Paul’s wife went from clearly cross to an issued sigh of resignation.

“We brought butterbeer.” He pulled out tiny steins, that when tapped on the table grew to full, frost-covered size and filled themselves with aromatic, amber liquid.

His wife had a second sigh, now of approaching appreciation.

“Courtesy of Rosmerta, who sends her best wishes. Not too strong if you want to let them try a sip.”

Each claimed a glass and called out a toast.
“To old friends.”
“To new friends.”
“To finding each other again.”
“To our children.”
“To them never having to go through what we went through.”
“To us! And why not!”

A loud ‘cheers!’ and glasses were clinked over the table. Dear Lord, Paul’d forgotten how good that was. His wife practically moaned, to everybody’s amusement.

Talk moved to catching up on lives, the twenty years they’d been apart. Paul was prepared to be sidelined, and it didn’t happen. They’d been utterly fascinated with how he and Hermione’d met, then split, then met again. Ginny couldn’t refrain from ‘awww’ noises at the milestone moments, with Lav duetting with her for the Granger-Lennox engagement announcement.

He allowed them to tease out a few funny stories, several of which had escaped the tabloids. Also of his own history, in Magical Britain and outside of it. Multiple praises for his parents in withdrawing while it was practical to do so.

Hermione shared of her aggressive political ascent, including numerous apologies for missed weddings. And much more. Twenty years.

Ron and the Quidditch try-outs. Ginny and the same. “It was actually fun, even if I bombed.” Ron said. “Got to fly with the pros for an afternoon. I’d pay to do that again.” She gave him a mild punch on the shoulder. “You weren’t bad, honestly. Too many that day who were better, is all.”

Fleur and Bill, four children of their own and counting. “How do they find the time?” Ginny asked the sky.

Harry and Dudley, not friends as that won’t ever happen but reconciled as family. “Not a trace of magic in his girls. Never seen anybody so relieved.”

Kinglsey, retired and loving it. Harry and Lav make a special toast to him.

Arthur and Molly, delighted with so many grandchildren to babysit. “And they’d love to see you, Hermione. You too Paul,” Ginny said. “Your parents as well, if they’d like.”

And children, so many children! (Two Weasley siblings snorted at that.) Five at Hogwarts now, within all four houses to Hermione’s raised eyebrows. And possibly two more, down the road?

Four turned their gaze at Hermione. “Possibly. Possibly not. Even with Neville there as Deputy Headmaster.” She gazed back. “Trolls, homicidal woodlands, monsters tucked into classrooms, roller coaster stairways lacking guardrails, children given free access to lethal weapons and poisons… I could go on.”

“It’s not the same as when we attended, ’Mione,” Ron insisted. “Minerva and Neville are working wonders. Luna’s there too, guest professor whenever she’s in Britain.”

“Hmmm.” Hermione steepled her hands, which if her friends watched BBC Parliament would know wasn’t a good sign. “There are other options for a magical education, other countries. Robby and Jeanie require education for the real world, that’s a must. I managed to do both on my own and it was stressful.”

“Didn’t help that you were helping two idiots with their homework on a daily basis.”

“Says you, Gin!” Ron pushed back. “Hourly that was, right mate?” He and Harry clink glasses, while Hermione’s head fell into her hands.

“Hermione.” Lav reached out for one of the hands. “From what Harry described, they don’t just have magic. They have serious magic. Casting against a portraited individual? Not harming the painting, affecting the person inside even if it wasn’t intentional? That’s remarkable.”

“Tell me about it,” Harry muttered. “If I could have set a portrait’s head on fire, Walburga Black would have been cinders within minutes.”

“Maybe not Hogwarts,” Lav continued, “but they will need to learn magic, Hermione. And Paul. There’s time.” Her eyes lit up. “Come visit the school, a prospective parents trip? I’m fairly sure it can be arranged,” with a nudge to Harry.

“Maybe,” Paul said. “A firm maybe?” He glanced at his wife. “I never got to see the place; it might be fun.” That got a spectacular ‘you must be kidding’ expression in return.

“All I know is I’m worried how many magically active paintings remain in 10 Downing.”

“There was only one I knew of; no idea there was a second. I will” – there was a delicate cough from Lav – “We will look into that, Hermione.”

“No more surprises, Harry.” To be confirmed by an additional request with her associates, Paul knew.

Any further discussion was cut off by a furious stampede and shouted exclamations.

“Dad! They have magic mirrors!”

“Those are called mobiles, Alicia!”

“What she said, and thanks Lily!”

“Better than mirrors, Mum! You can talk to anyone, anywhere!”

“And read books in them!”

“And they can show you wherever you are!”

“We could see Mrs Granger’s manor house and her city house from high up, as if we were on brooms!”

“Hey.” Hermione stepped in. “You can call us Aunt Hermione and Uncle Paul, if it’s fine with your parents.”

It was. Quite definitely. A deft redirect, as the wonders of mobiles didn’t seem to be going over well outside of the kids. Possibly an unfair display of Muggle magic when real magic had been declared out of bounds, Paul imagined.

He followed her lead. “What exactly were you playing out there?”

A septet of shrugged shoulders. Then they tried.

“Kinda like Quidditch?”

“On the ground, no flying.”

“You could kick any of the balls.”

“That was cool!”

“Or whack any of them with a bat. Robby told us about baseball.”

“Jeanie about cricket.”

“And you could throw balls to hit stuff on the ground.”

“Like another ball.”

“At anybody on the other side too.”

“And you could kick them at people.”

“Or bat them back and forth between sides, keep them from hitting the ground.”

“Hit them into the air too!”

“We didn’t get around to picking sides.”

“Playing was more fun.”

“We gotta try this again!”

“Is it time to eat yet?”

That it was. Hermione and Paul set out the lunch offerings, hot and cold. New rounds of drinks as needed; Ron had already charmed the steins to refill automatically.

The chicken tikka masala and rice went over well, a new dish for several. Robby and Jeanie played gastronomical ambassadors to their youthful tablemates.

Paul listened in a bit as the talk at the second table drifted to school, and knew Hermione was as well.

“No, it’s really awesome!”

“I just started. Finally! They don’t let you go early. Discrimination!”

“Uncle Neville’s the best. Growing plants at home is deadly dull. He makes it exciting!”

“James, you had to regrow three fingers!”

“See, exciting!”

“It’s not like that. Most of the time. Classes are great and you get to learn so many spells.”

“Potions is the best.”

“Charms, no question.”

“Rubbish, Quidditch is the best.”

“Argh! Enough about Quidditch. Jeanie, pass whatever those fried sticks are. Please.”

“Fish fingers. Mum loves them.”

“Alicia, if you like the masala, there’s a fantastic shop not far from, well, not far from where we used to live. What we have in the new house isn’t the same. And we can’t get delivery!”

“I know we’ve been saying how excellent Hogwarts is, ’cept they don’t have food like this. More shepherd’s pie than you can imagine, you bet. I want more of these curlies for meals.”

“Curries. There’re tons of types. Big strike against if they don’t serve them.”

“Hey, you’re years away. Maybe by then they’ll have changed.”

Maybe they will, Paul hoped. In the meantime, afters were on. Mum had baked trays of blondies; as she’d said on picking them up it was like a Royal Command Performance. For a PM. And her family. And magical friends. He would have to tell her how well they’d gone over.

The Madeira cake also was a hit, particularly with the properly matched wine reserved for the adults. The non-adults got glasses of butterbeer. Paul arranged for small versions for Robby and Jeanie; the rest are used to it. Many preferred the fizzy drinks they’d never seen before. All sugar-free, of course.

The youth of Britain had gone back to discussing the pros and cons of Hogwarts. James was pushing the youngest to add proper Quidditch classes to the curriculum as part of their mandates for attending.

The adults were having tea or coffee, walking around and chatting. Ron, Gin, Harry, and Paul were also on about Quidditch. The latter had read of the games; these people had seen (and played!) them.

That was properly fascinating. He’d read about G. Weasley but hearing her personally was incredible. Paul departed after a World Cup recital, complete with arm-based aerial recreations, for a second coffee and stumbled onto his wife. Her, and Lavender, on a bench within a copse.

“I’m happy for you. And Ron.”

“Words you never thought you’d be saying, I bet.”

“Well, to be honest yes. You’re not the same as I remember. Neither is Ron.”

“None of us are.”

“Paul had good words for you. He doesn’t impress easily.”

“He’s a good person.”

“Good, when he’s not sneaking around.” Caught.

“Ah, such base stratagems this mere mortal must employ whilst surrounded by sorcerers and enchantresses most puissant,” he sing-songed.

“Berk. Never lets me forget he outscored me in first year English Lit. Get over here and sit down with your adoring fans.” They budged apart for him.

“Somebody outscoring Hermione, good for you! You also do good work on kids. Both of you; they’re delightful. And make for splendid pirates too.” It was easy to hear that they’d returned to honouring the day, and along with Lily and Albus were teaching acceptably piratical phrases to those unfamiliar. Inventing new ones as well, it sounded like.

“They’re a handful, and that was before magic arrived. Your Russell and Alicia are wonderful.”

“They are, aren’t they?” Lav smiled warmly. “Adopted, of course. Hair alone gives that away.” She stopped smiling and faced Hermione. “What that monster did… I’m lucky to be alive. Thanks to you.”

“Honestly, Lav. It could have been any of us, I just spotted you first.”

“Not changing the thanks, Hermione.”

“Hmmm.” Paul saw his wife pause. “Lavender, have you considered a Muggle doctor? They do incredible work. I had terrible mementos from the Ministry debacle and got them seen to years ago.” They were now barely visible, he knew.

“I’m not saying you need this or should do it. It’s an option, and one totally up to you.”

“I didn’t know they could do that. I’ll think about it.” She raised her hand to her face. “To be honest, they’re part of me. I will say, speaking of options…” She looked at Paul, then back to Hermione. “Don’t press them about magic, either way. I wasn’t there that night when you left; I heard it later from Ron. Maybe it doesn’t have to be one or the other, forever.”

“Lav, not there that night… Everyone believed you dead that night!”

“Dead? Snape wouldn’t have ever accepted that as an excuse for us Gryffs.”

Hermione laughed at that, and Lav joined her. Paul’d heard the tales of their Potions professor enough times to also chuckle.

“I can’t understand what you went through, Hermione. But your children have magic, fierce magic. And the school’s better now, go and see. Neville will love to see you too.”

“Maybe. A firm maybe, right love?”

“A firm maybe,” Paul agreed. The best that Lavender was going to get today, and she knew it. The three rose and went in search of refills.

The Sun was heading downward when final farewells were made. Hugs, long ones, and demands of a repeat concert. Perhaps a magical location, perhaps magic allowed. Perhaps. No, not a perhaps, a certainty.

Coordinating schedules, mainly for the kids, would be the hard part. That and Parliament sessions. Wizengamot too. And Quidditch matches. And whatever else life threw at them.

The announcement brought cheers from the newly created sports league. As well as requests to write. Hermione looked to Harry; they would work out the details.

Later, in bed…

“That… was delightful.”

“You have excellent taste in friends.”

“I didn’t think it would be that smooth. I thought they might be angry, how I exited.”

“You did what you had to do that night. I, for one, am glad you did. As are 97% of your constituency, and 53% of your country.”

“Prat.” He got a kiss from it, nevertheless. “The children had fun.”

“They did seem to get along. All of them.”

“I still have concerns about Hogwarts. Not simply the dangers and poor sourcing for the teaching staff. That they’ll miss a proper education, and being part of British culture. Neither are acceptable.”

“Good points both. We’ve years to work out how to get it right for them.”

“You honestly think it would be fun to tour Hogwarts?”

“I think so. It’s the life I never had.”

“Keep in mind if you’d attended, you might be dead or horribly maimed by now.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Shall we list the ways?”

She dozed off after ‘basilisk stare.’