Content Harry Potter Miscellaneous
  • Previous
  • Next

Chapter 40: Decisions, Decisions

“How do I look?” Hermione asked nervously. 

“Horrible,” said Harry and Draco together. 

“Should I kick them?” Meghan asked. 

“No,” said Aletha firmly.  “You look fine, Hermione.  Don’t be afraid.”

“We’re all with you,” Sirius added, putting an arm around Hermione from behind and squeezing.  His eyebrows went up, but he said nothing, kissing the back of Hermione’s head before letting go, then beckoning Aletha closer. 

Aletha kept her face straight.  “Yes?”

“When did she start...”  Sirius turned a little away from the cubs and cupped his hands in front of his chest.  “Developing?”

“She has been for about the past year.  She’s just more modest than she used to be, so you never noticed.”  Aletha debated something internally for a moment, then decided for it.  “Hug Meghan one of these days and be ready for a surprise.”

“Oh, no.  Not already.”

“Oh, yes, already.  Not much, but it’s starting.”

“Well, she always was precocious.”  Sirius ran a hand through his hair.  “Sometimes I wonder where the time went,” he said.  “It seems like not that long ago, we were living in London, Meghan was a tiny little speck, the other three weren’t much bigger... and now look at them.  They’re growing up.  Quidditch players, fine students, school champions...”

“I know what you mean.”  Aletha smoothed Sirius’ hair.  “I can remember the time passing, but it doesn’t seem to add up right.  I know it will, if I just take a minute to do it properly, but at a quick glance it doesn’t seem possible that it’s been twelve years and more since we started this crazy Pack business...”

The door of the courtroom opened.  “We’re ready for you,” said the young witch in clerk’s robes. 

“Thank you,” said Sirius.  “Well, here’s to twelve more, and more than that.”

The cubs had arranged themselves in a line, Hermione leading and Harry bringing up the rear.  Draco had his hand on his twin’s shoulder.  Meghan was bouncing in anticipation until Harry pressed down gently on her head.  Hermione glanced over her shoulder. 

“Go on, sweet,” Aletha said, waving her Pack-daughter forward.  And all my love go with you.

Hermione lifted her head high and pushed the door open. 

xXxXx 

Remus watched the Pack enter the courtroom, keeping his eyes away from the other side of the spectators’ benches.  In light of the defense bringing in five guests along with their witness, the prosecution had been allowed the same courtesy, so Dolores Umbridge was back, along with a few other officious Ministry types. 

Our side is nicer-looking, Danger said.  And probably smarter.

Definitely smarter.  Remus watched the cubs, cataloguing each beloved face, just in case this day went badly.  Harry’s open grin, Meghan’s saucy look, Draco’s quiet smile, and Hermione’s confident expression etched themselves into his mind and heart. 

You are mine, no matter what happens here today.  Mine now and forever.  And even if they tell me to stay away, I will always be there to protect you should the need arise.

Which it will.  But they won’t.  So you’ll be able to.  Danger frowned a little.  Did that make any sense at all? 

No.  Not really.  But that’s all right, I’m used to it.  Remus nodded to Sirius and Aletha as they found places in the row behind the cubs.  Ready for this? 

No.  Let’s do it anyway. 

The day’s proceedings began.  Everyone stood for the three warlocks, the case was named and explained, and Charles Scribner stood to call a witness, one Miss Hermione Jane Granger-Lupin.

Hermione got to her feet, squeezing Draco’s hand one last time, patting her cheek as Meghan blew a kiss, and smiling as Harry winked at her.  Head up, steps steady, she walked across the courtroom floor and seated herself in the witness chair. 

Here we go, Danger said, holding Remus’ hand tightly.  God, I hope this works...

“Miss Granger-Lupin,” said Scribner.  “Your age, please?”

“Fourteen.”

“You’re a student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?”

“Yes, sir.  A fourth year.  Gryffindor,” Hermione added, patting the crest on her best school robes, which had been pressed for the occasion. 

“And your background?”

“I’m Muggleborn, but I was raised magical.”

“Could you tell us how that happened, in your own words, please?”

Hermione rubbed her hands along her thighs, then folded them in her lap and began.  Remus forced himself to relax.  They’d taken the better part of two nights to put this story together and make sure it held up.  It did, and more importantly, it avoided any mention of werewolf taming, which was something he did not want publicly known. 

“Mr. Lupin met my sister in the park on 15 March, 1982, when my sister was taking care of Harry Potter and me.  They enjoyed one another’s company, and Mr. Lupin explained to my sister that the unusual things she’d seen Harry do were actually magic.  He let me play with his wand and discovered I was magical as well.  My sister told him at this meeting that Harry was very unhappy living with his relatives.  Over the next two weeks, they saw a great deal of each other, and finally they came up with a plan.  They would get married, take Harry away from his relatives, and pretend that Harry and I were twins and both their children.  And that’s what they did.”

Across the room, Shybrook’s quill was taking notes. 

“Explain to us, if you will, Miss Granger-Lupin,” said Scribner, “how Sirius Black and Aletha Freeman-Black entered your life.”

“M... Mr. Lupin,” Hermione corrected herself smoothly, “and my sister needed a place to live once they were married, a place where no one knew them.  Mr. Lupin thought of contacting his friend Aletha – Mrs. Freeman-Black now – and it turned out she had a place she could rent to them.  Besides, Harry knew her too.  It was only fair to let her be in on things.”

“And Mr. Black?”

“After he escaped, he came to find Letha...”  Hermione stopped, unsure.

“Use your names for them,” Scribner encouraged her. 

Hermione relaxed a bit.  “He came to find Letha and tell her the truth, and she believed him.  They were able to convince Danger and Moony, and they thought, as long as they were hiding Harry, they might as well hide Padfoot too.”

“And Moony and Padfoot are...” said Warlock Mables. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, Your Honor.  Moony is Mr. Lupin.  Padfoot is Mr. Black.  It’s just what we’ve always called them.  From their school nicknames.”

Mables sat back.  “All right, go on.”

“There really isn’t much else to tell.  Meghan was born about a year later, and then Draco came...”

“Would you tell us how that happened?” Scribner said. 

The Pack’s stay at Malfoy Manor could be told almost unexpurgated.  Two or three of the Ministry officials looked impressed when Hermione explained how she and Harry had knocked Lucius Malfoy into the mantelpiece.  Remus had a slight attack of nerves when she related the story of the contract, but she very carefully excepted him from the signers, “because he knew if he signed it, then it wouldn’t be legal, and he wanted it to be.”

You were worried?  She remembers things, Remus, you know that.

Yes, but under pressure...

“Now, if you don’t mind, Miss Granger-Lupin, would you tell us when and why you changed your last name?” Scribner was saying now. 

Hermione straightened in her chair.  “It was just after Padfoot’s trial when I had the idea.  Around Christmas 1990,” she added.  “People made such a fuss over names then.  I suppose that’s what got me thinking about it.  I wanted to do something to tell the world who I belonged to.  So I asked Danger about changing my name, and she helped me do the paperwork and consented for me, since she’s my guardian, and I added Lupin to my name for Moony’s birthday present in March 1991.”

Shybrook’s quill was moving faster than ever. 

“And the events of this past May?” Scribner said.  This had been the longest-argued point between him and the Lupins.  He’d finally won them over by pointing out that Shybrook was unlikely to let Hermione tell things in her own words, and he would.  “Better to have the truth on the table before Shybrook starts trying to color it,” had been his clinching argument.  “And I think your Hermione can handle it.” 

Hermione had agreed, but Remus could see the shift in her face as Scribner asked, and a moment brought him her scent laden with remembered fear.  Still, she began in a strong voice.  “I was taking part in a Combat Club match, at a sentry post, with Draco Black as my partner...”

The Animagus transformation became loosely tied ropes and a window that was larger than it seemed, and instead of Draco’s Slytherin jewel allowing him to seize Malfoy’s wand and escape, his exploding Combat Club wand had blinded the Death Eater for the crucial moment.  Riding Buckbeak away needed no changes, nor did repelling the dementors, though Shybrook’s quill sped up yet again at this portion of the story. 

Smart girl, said Danger, chuckling mentally at what Hermione hadn’t said.  Holding onto her aces.  Is that everything? 

I think so.  Except a couple of last questions...

“The events you’ve just narrated took place on a full moon, is that correct?” Scribner asked.

“Yes.”

“Were you at any time afraid that Mr. Lupin in his transformed state might bite you?”

Hermione shook her head.  “No.”

“Why not?”

“I was busy being afraid of the Death Eater who wanted to kill me,” Hermione said tartly, drawing snickers from the Pack.

“Order,” said Warlock Sly testily. 

“Also, I knew Moony took Wolfsbane Potion for his full moons,” Hermione finished.  “When he does that, he has his human mind just like he does the rest of the time.  So no, I wasn’t afraid of him.”

“No further questions,” said Scribner, sitting down. 

Shybrook was on his feet immediately.  “Miss Granger-Lupin – and may I say, that is a lovely name – you’ve stated that you lived with Mr. Lupin for quite a number of years.  Beginning in 1982 – is that correct?  Good.  In light of the fact that the Wolfsbane Potion was not invented until early 1990, how did you feel about living with a werewolf growing up?”

“I’ve never been afraid of any of my guardians,” Hermione said calmly.  “They take good care of us.”

“Did you ever see Mr. Lupin in his transformed state before he began to take Wolfsbane Potion?”

“But that would be very dangerous,” Hermione said, widening her eyes until she looked like Luna.  Danger’s laughter resounded through Remus’ mind, Sirius was grinning, and Draco coughed a few times before he got himself under control.  “Our guardians were always careful never to let us get hurt, or even be in a situation where we might get hurt if they could help it.”

Absolutely true, said Remus smugly. 

Also not a real answer to the question, but we’ll hope he doesn’t notice that. 

“So you were never allowed to see Mr. Lupin transformed until he began taking the Wolfsbane Potion?”

Damn, he noticed.

“We never saw him transformed and uncontrolled,” Hermione said. 

Shybrook frowned, but didn’t seem to think the question worth further pursuit. 

Phew.  Remus sent an image of himself wiping his brow.  First hurdle past.  Only several hundred left. 

And if we’re sweating over here, just imagine what it’s like up there on the hot seat...

xXxXx

I hope I’m doing all right.  I hope I haven’t said anything wrong.  I hope this all comes out well...

But all the faces looking her way were encouraging, hopeful, nodding, and Hermione dared to hope a little more. 

“What was the atmosphere of your home like, Miss Granger-Lupin?” Shybrook asked her. 

“My home is...”  Hermione frowned.  How to put it into words?  “It’s where I want to be when I’m tired,” she said.  “Where I want to go when I’m sick.  And where I like to go when something goes really well for me.  Because my family is there, and they’ll help me or be happy with me, whichever one is right.  Because I’m theirs, and they’re mine.”

“Yes, you mentioned something earlier I wanted to ask you about.”  Shybrook consulted his notes.  “You said that you wanted to ‘tell the world who I belonged to.’  Are you saying that Mr. Lupin makes you feel like his property?”

Hermione fired up for a second, but intercepted several quelling glares from the Pack and got herself under control.  “No,” she said simply.  “Not like his property.  Like his family.  There are different kinds of belonging, Mr. Shybrook.”

Warlock Longwood chuckled.  “Move on, Shybrook,” she advised.  “You won’t get anything that way.”

“Very well.”  Shybrook ran his finger down the scroll.  “You mentioned, Miss Granger-Lupin, that Mr. Lupin and your sister only knew each other for two weeks before they were married.  Do you think that’s unusual?”

“Objection,” said Scribner, standing.  “This has nothing to do with the question before the court.”

The warlocks muttered to each other for a moment.  “Sustained,” said Warlock Mables finally.  “Stick with your subject, Mr. Shybrook.”

Shybrook returned to his table and accepted a note from Officer Custer, who was watching Hermione closely.  Hermione caught the older witch’s eyes and held them for a long moment.  Custer looked away first. 

“Miss Granger-Lupin,” said Shybrook, looking up from the note.  “Can you explain to the court exactly what happened to you on the night of 23 December, 1990?”

Oh dear.  Hermione gulped.  She hadn’t expected this.  What am I supposed to say? 

She looked over at the spectators’ section.  Padfoot was rubbing at the inside corner of his left eye, and Letha was nodding silently. 

Tell the truth, Hermione translated.  All right...

She skipped over the part about Danger’s prophetic dream and went straight to the transformations in the cellar. 

“Your sister turned you into animals?” said Shybrook with just the right amount of amazement in his voice.  “Did Mr. Lupin know about this?”

“No, sir.  He was upstairs.”

“And why do you think your sister would do such a thing as turn you into animals?”

Scribner rose.  “Objection, speculation.”

“Overruled,” said Warlock Sly.  “Let’s hear it, girl.”

Hermione clenched her teeth briefly.  Don’t call me girl.  “I know why she did it,” she said sharply.  “We knew Peter Pettigrew was hiding in his Animagus form, and humans in animal form can see other humans in animal form.  Danger knew we’d have a better chance of finding Pettigrew that way.”

“But did she know Pettigrew was so very nearby?” Shybrook pushed.  “Why didn’t she just go find him herself?”

“I don’t know, maybe because she wore herself out doing the transformations and collapsed?” Hermione shot back.  “And there’s another reason she transformed us – so busybodies like you wouldn’t come in and treat us like we were still babies and take us away from each other ‘for our own good’!”

Shybrook took an involuntary step back. 

“Everything the Ministry’s ever done to us that’s been ‘for our own good’ has been about splitting us up,” Hermione said, feeling heat rising in her chest and letting it sweep her away.  “You took Draco away for weeks, and you wouldn’t let us see Moony for longer than that, and if you’d bothered to find out anything about us, you would have found out that we’re happy when we’re together, because that’s how we’ve lived since I was too little to remember it!” 

She flung out her hand towards the spectators’ section, then to the defense table.  “All the best memories of my life have these people in them.  They love me.  I love them.  And it’s been that way for twelve years.  Why can’t it be that way anymore?  Why not?”

“Order!” snapped Warlock Sly, thumping the bench.  “Sit down, girl!  Hasn’t anyone taught you any manners?”

“Yes, but I suppose I forgot them, since I haven’t seen him for so long,” said Hermione pointedly, seating herself again.  Laughter from the spectators – on both sides! – rewarded her quip.  And Moony was smiling, she saw in a sneaked glance. 

“Everyone, settle down,” said Warlock Longwood.  “Mr. Shybrook, continue, if you please.”

Shybrook cleared his throat.  “Yes.  Well.  Miss Granger-Lupin, I take it, then, that you would describe your relationship with Mr. Lupin as very loving, very close.”

“He’s my father.”

“But do you not also consider Mr. Black in the light of a father?”

“Yes,” Hermione said cautiously, sensing that some sort of trap was being set. 

“Then why are you so vehement that Mr. Lupin be a part of your life?  Most people do perfectly well with just one father.”  Shybrook smiled as if he’d said something clever. 

Hermione raised her eyebrows.  “I suppose I’d do perfectly well with just one hand, too,” she said, “but that doesn’t mean I want the other one cut off.”

The spectators laughed again, and even Warlock Longwood chuckled at this.  Shybrook looked down at his hands, frowning, then back up at Hermione.  “Yes, but having two hands is a natural condition, Miss Granger-Lupin.  People are born with two hands.”

“And as far back as I can remember, I’ve had two fathers and two mothers,” Hermione said.  “That’s a natural condition to me.  It means I have more role models, more places to go when I need help, more hands to help me up when I fall.  More people to love me.  Why do you want to take that away from me?”

Shybrook suddenly smiled again, and Hermione swallowed surreptitiously.  “People who love you.  You’ve been quite vehement on that point.  But can you prove it?  Can you provide proof for us, here and now, that Mr. Remus Lupin actually loves you and cares for you, and you for him?”

Hermione couldn’t help it.  She laughed aloud. 

“Is something funny, Miss Granger-Lupin?” said Warlock Mables, peering at her. 

Hermione got herself under control.  “Yes, Your Honor,” she said. 

“Well, why not share it with the rest of us?”

“I’m just going to, Your Honor.”  Hermione turned back to Shybrook.  “Yes, sir.  I can.”

xXxXx

“This is it,” Harry whispered to Draco.  “Hope she can do it on her own.”

“Me too.”  Hermione had been able to produce the necessary proof several times in practice, but she had also failed quite a few times – in fact, she’d failed more often than she’d succeeded. 

“She can,” Meghan breathed, holding hard onto Harry’s arm.  “I know she can.”

“Well, why don’t you, then?” Shybrook said, stepping back. 

“I need permission to use magic, Your Honors, if I may?” Hermione asked the warlocks. 

“Go ahead, Miss Granger-Lupin,” said Warlock Longwood. 

“Thank you.”  Hermione stood up and stepped out onto the open floor space. 

Scribner stood up.  “If I may say a few words of explanation?”

“Shybrook?” said Warlock Sly.  “You’re questioning now, it’s your decision.”

“I’m listening,” Shybrook said, leaning against his table. 

“Miss Granger-Lupin proposes to cast the Patronus Charm,” said Scribner to the warlocks.  “This is highly advanced magic, used in driving away dementors.  In order to properly form a Patronus, the caster must concentrate very hard on a happy thought or memory.  A truly powerful Patronus is known as corporeal, meaning that it takes on a form or shape.”

“We know that,” said Sly testily.  “Get to the point.”

“The point, Your Honor, is that a corporeal Patronus takes on the shape of something that its caster believes will protect him or her.  The form of a Patronus cannot be consciously altered, nor can it be produced forcibly.  Miss Granger-Lupin’s Patronus will take the form of that which she naturally sees as protecting her.”  Scribner nodded to Hermione and returned to his seat. 

Hermione took a deep breath, and Harry saw her swallow again.  She closed her eyes tightly, then opened them and lifted her wand. 

Expecto patronum!

xXxXx

It wasn’t enough.  She could feel it even as she spoke.  She didn’t have enough magic, she didn’t have enough will – she was going to fail, everything would fall through, Moony would never be able to come home again, and it would all be her fault...

The silver mist from her wand dissipated without ever assuming a shape.  Hermione wanted to cry.  She didn’t even have to look to see the smugness on Shybrook’s and Custer’s faces, and the horrible smiles on the spectators on their side.

“Just a moment,” said Scribner, rising, a slip of parchment in his hand.  “May I request the courtroom be darkened for Miss Granger-Lupin’s second attempt, to let the form of the Patronus be more clearly seen?”

Second attempt, what second attempt?  Hermione sniffled a little.  There isn’t going to be any second attempt.  I failed, that’s all.  I failed. 

“Seems reasonable,” said Warlock Longwood.  She waved her wand, and all but three of the torches on the walls went out. 

Hermione’s eyes adjusted almost instantly, as a cat’s would.  She took advantage of the fact to get a good long look at the defense table.  I’m sorry, she signed rapidly to Moony, knowing she only had a few seconds before everyone else’s eyes adjusted.  I’m so sorry, I messed up, I didn’t do it right, it’s all my fault, I’m sorry...

Moony shook his head.  Try again, Kitten, he told her.  You can do it.

I can’t.

You can.  I know you can.  Moony nodded firmly.  Try again.

You can do it, love, Danger signed beside him.  Make us proud. 

Hermione turned her head to look at the spectators.  Knock ‘em out, Padfoot told her. 

We love you, was Aletha’s message.  You can do this. 

We’re with you, Harry signed, indicating himself, Draco, and Meghan.  And everyone.  He patted his pendants.  All with you.  Show them. 

“Miss Granger-Lupin, whenever you’re ready,” said Scribner from the defense table. 

Hermione closed her eyes and found the memory she wanted to use.  It was a summer night.  Padfoot was telling a story.  Meghan was snuggled against Letha, Danger supporting Draco’s back.  Harry’s eyes were drifting shut as his body started to recover from a debilitating fever.  As for herself, she lay curled in a man’s lap, feeling his hand stroke her back over and over, her purr vibrating through both of them, in time with the words of the story, the beat of their hearts.  Moony had come home.  Nothing could be wrong with the world now. 

She opened her eyes.  “Expecto patronum,” she whispered. 

Silver smoke geysered from her wand and rapidly coalesced into the shape she’d been hoping for, the shape she’d prayed it would take.  She knew at that moment how the Pevensie sisters must have felt on the morning after the most dreadful night ever to occur in Narnia. 

The figure which stood before her was a brightly shining lion. 

Another wave of Warlock Longwood’s wand relit the torches, although they were hardly necessary with the silvery light the Patronus cast.  “Very impressive,” she said. 

“But inconclusive,” said Shybrook, closing his mouth.  “What does a lion have to do with Remus Lupin?”

“My client is a lion Animagus, a fact of which Miss Granger-Lupin is well aware,” said Scribner.  “It makes sense that her Patronus would take the form she knows Mr. Lupin takes.”

“But Miss Granger-Lupin has herself stated she is a member of Gryffindor House,” countered Shybrook.  “The lion is the symbol of Gryffindor.  What if Miss Granger-Lupin is simply showing House pride?”

“The Patronus is a very personal protector,” Scribner said.  “I doubt Miss Granger-Lupin’s House has much to do with it.”

“But you can’t discount it either.”  Shybrook smirked.  “Just because Miss Granger-Lupin feels protected by a lion, it doesn’t follow that she feels protected by Remus Lupin.”

“I can prove that,” said Hermione. 

Both lawyers’ heads swiveled to face her.  “Forgive me for doubting you, Miss Granger-Lupin,” said Shybrook, “but you claimed that at the beginning of this little exercise, and I, for one, remain unconvinced.  What further proof can you offer?”

Hermione waved her wand, banishing the silver lion, though not without a pang.  “Another Patronus,” she said.  “One that not even you can say isn’t Mr. Lupin.”

Shybrook raised his eyebrows in a patently false way.  “Another Patronus?” he said in a patronizing tone.  “Did I misunderstand you, Scribner?  I thought you said they were one to a customer.”

“They are, as far as I know...” 

Hermione caught Scribner’s eye and nodded towards the Pack’s seats.

“Ah yes.  I’d forgotten about that.  Will you let me call a second witness here, Shybrook?  He’s rather necessary for this.”

“Oh, go on,” said Shybrook disagreeably. 

“Your Honors, if I may call Draco Black?”

The warlocks nodded.  Draco was on his feet and crossing to Hermione almost immediately.  Good show, he said, taking her hand around the wand.  Think you’ve got enough for one more? 

If you give half. 

You know I will.

“Mr. Black, would you please explain your relationship to Miss Granger-Lupin?” said Scribner.

“We grew up as siblings from the age of four, but there was never any blood connection between us until this past May,” said Draco.  “My blood father, when he kidnapped us, created a magical blood bond between us which makes us the equivalent of twins.”

“And because you are twins...”

“We can use each other’s magic,” said Hermione.  “Or combine magic to do more than we can alone.  That’s how we conjured the Patronus when the dementors were after us.”

“And is the form of your combined Patronus different than either of your individual ones?”

“Yes, sir,” said Draco. 

“Do you think you could demonstrate your individual Patronus for us, Mr. Black?”

Draco let go Hermione’s hand and drew his own wand.  “Expecto patronum,” he said, and a four-legged creature leapt from the end of his wand, solidifying after a moment into a wolf. 

“Are you trying to claim,” said Shybrook, openly skeptical, “that this boy’s Patronus is a werewolf?”

“No,” said Scribner as Draco’s Patronus dissolved.  “I’m claiming that their combined Patronus is a werewolf.”

The spectators on the prosecution side gasped.  “Order,” said Warlock Mables, dousing the lights with her wand.  “Go ahead, you two.”

Hermione felt Draco’s fingers close around hers again.  Ready?

When you are. 

Doors were opened and gates unlocked, sluices lifted and shutters thrown back.  Two minds surged together, two souls touched and merged in a great laugh.  This was going to be the best prank ever.

Expecto patronum!” cried two voices as one. 

The creature which emerged from the tip of the wand waved its tail gaily for all to see, trotting first to Shybrook and play-bowing to him, then galloping through the air to the warlocks’ bench.

“If you will note, Your Honors, the blunter snout of the combined Patronus than of Mr. Black’s,” said Scribner airily.  “Also, I believe the Patronus has retractile claws...”

Front paw up, claws out, Hermione told the Patronus, which flexed its right front paw, revealing shining silver claws. 

“And, of course, the tufted tail,” said Scribner as Draco had the Patronus turn around.  “Miss Granger-Lupin and Mr. Black have had opportunity to see Mr. Lupin transformed in his harmless state over the summers for several years now.  They are unlikely to make a mistake.”

I think he’s enjoying this, said Draco.

I’m sure he’s enjoying it, said Hermione.  Shybrook was treating him like he was stupid.  Now he gets to return the favor. 

“I think we’ve seen enough,” said Warlock Longwood.  “Mr. Black, Miss Granger-Lupin, would you mind?”

Draco let go Hermione’s hand, and the Patronus disappeared.  Warlock Mables brought the torches up again. 

“Mr. Shybrook, any further questions for these two witnesses?”

Shybrook looked up from where he’d been whispering with Custer.  “No, no further questions, Your Honor.”  More whispering. 

“You may step down,” Warlock Longwood told Draco and Hermione. 

Grinning, the twins shook hands.  Think we did good? Draco asked his sister.

I know we did.  Hermione shot Draco the image she’d just seen out the corner of her eye – Moony’s broad smile as he unfolded a note from Scribner.  See what it says? 

I like that.  Draco followed Hermione back to the spectators’ seats.  I like that a lot.

Shybrook rose.  “Your Honors,” he said heavily, “my client, speaking for Wizarding Family Services, wishes to withdraw from this case.  She feels it has been proved beyond a reasonable doubt that Remus Lupin is not an unsuitable person as defined by law, and therefore should be given custody of Miss Granger-Lupin.  It is, of course, up to you to determine the final outcome, since the law is involved, but my client recommends that Mr. Lupin’s request be granted.”

Meghan sat up straight, quivering with anticipation.  Harry’s grin reminded Hermione very strongly of Wolf.  This could be it, Draco muttered, his fingers resting on the back of her hand as they watched the warlocks talking amongst themselves.  This could decide it all...

Warlock Mables faced the courtroom again.  “Mr. Scribner, are you amenable to letting the case be decided now?”

Scribner said a few words to Moony and Danger, then nodded.  “That seems reasonable, Your Honor.”

“In that case, we will proceed to deliberation,” said Warlock Mables.  “You may move around, talk amongst yourselves, but please go no farther than the restrooms.  Court is still in session.  We will return when a verdict has been decided upon.”

The warlocks rose and filed out.  Hermione sagged against the back of the bench. 

“Nice work out there,” said Letha, leaning forward and laying her hands on Hermione’s shoulders.  “You didn’t let him get away with anything.  And you’re stiff as a board.  Hold still.” 

Despite this injunction, Hermione scooted up a little in her seat to let Letha work on more of her shoulders.  “Was I really good?” she asked Padfoot, turning her head to see him. 

“You were excellent,” he told her, pressing his knuckles against her ear in a love-punch. 

“What, my telling her isn’t enough?” Letha grumbled, her hands moving in circles on Hermione’s back. 

“No, of course not,” Padfoot said.  “You’re only one foot, after all.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Well, if Remus and I are hands, you and Danger get to be feet.”

“I’ll give you feet.  Hold still.” 

Padfoot yelped, and there was a resounding crash. 

“Pushed him off the bench with her foot,” Harry announced, forestalling Hermione’s effort to turn around.  “You all right, Padfoot?”

“Fine,” groaned Padfoot, sitting up.  “Never marry a Healer.  They know where to hit.”  He rubbed at his side.  “God, that hurt.”

“It’s your own silly fault,” Letha said.  “You should know by now that when I say ‘Hold still,’ you ought to be running in the opposite direction as fast as you can.”

“But I’m not allowed to leave the courtroom.  Do you want me to run into the wall?  Don’t answer that,” Padfoot added quickly as Meghan and Hermione giggled.  “What did I ever do to deserve this kind of family?”

“Ummm.”  Draco seemed to be giving the question serious thought.  “You made friends with Moony.”

“Agreed to be Harry’s godfather,” said Hermione, picking up her cue. 

“Married Letha.”

“Went half-shares in me.”

“Adopted Danger as a sister.”

“Had Meghan.”

“And took me off my mother’s hands,” Draco finished.

“Are you saying you don’t want us anymore?” Harry asked.  “We can always leave, you know.  Moony and Danger can get their own place and we can spend summers with them.  Or I could go back to my relatives.  I’m sure they’d be thrilled to see me again.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom would probably take me in if Moony and Danger didn’t have enough room,” said Meghan thoughtfully.  “I could have the guest bedroom down the hall from Neville’s.  We’d have loads of fun.”

Padfoot sighed.  “No rhetorical question is safe around you lot, is it?”

“No,” said everyone in semi-unison. 

“Greetings, O Greater Pack,” said Danger, sitting down at the end of the bench and absorbing several hugs.  “I’ve been sent as an emissary.  Good work, Draco, and very good work, Hermione.” 

Hermione sneaked a look at the defense table.  Moony was sitting very still, his eyes shut and his hands folded. 

“What’re you looking over there for?” Moony’s voice teased from beside her.  Hermione jerked her head back.  “I am so proud of you, Kitten.  There just aren’t any words.”

Hermione smiled into blue-brown eyes.  “I know,” she said.  “Thank you.”  She hugged Danger, knowing in her mind and heart that she was hugging Moony too, even if her body wasn’t convinced. 

I’ll be able to hug him in his own body soon.  As soon as the warlocks come back in.  As soon as they tell us they’ve decided for us. 

Her nose teased her, delivering faint wisps of Moony’s scent because Danger had been next to him all day.  I’ll have the real thing soon.  Very soon. 

xXxXx

But the warlocks took quite a long time about deciding.  Shybrook and Scribner pulled their combined rank and got one of the officers to go and get some food for everyone when it became clear that there wouldn’t be a verdict before lunch time.  Hermione dug out the work she’d had the teachers give her for that day and pestered Harry and Draco into doing the same.  Meghan was ahead in most of her classes, but behind in Charms, which she found tricky, so Letha went off to a corner to work with her on that.  Padfoot went down to the defense table to chat with Moony and Danger. 

It was around two in the afternoon when the door to the warlocks’ room opened.  Everyone looked up or around and started to bundle away books and papers, hurrying back to their seats.  Hermione was sure that everyone could hear her heart pounding.  Please, oh please, oh please...

Warlock Longwood stood up.  “In a unanimous decision,” she announced, “the law barring unsuitable people from adopting children or otherwise becoming their legal guardians... is upheld.”

Draco swore under his breath.  Meghan made a faint moaning noise in her throat.  Hermione felt as if she, like Ron, had just fallen from Gryffindor Tower – only she had no wings to carry her to safety, and the ground was coming up fast...

“Don’t panic,” Harry whispered out the corner of his mouth.  “I don’t think she’s done.”

“However,” Warlock Longwood continued, “the provision of the law which names werewolves as automatically ‘unsuitable’...”  She smiled. “...is overturned.  Court is adjourned.”

What... what...

Hermione screamed aloud as the meaning of the warlock’s words got through to her mind.

We’ve won – we’ve won!

She was only vaguely aware of Harry flattening himself against the back of the bench, laughing, as she launched herself into the aisle.  Padfoot and Letha’s kiss barely registered, nor did Draco and Meghan’s impromptu dance of joy.  She had her own destination. 

Moony met her halfway there and caught her up in his arms, swinging her around and around, then setting her back on her feet without ever letting go.  “My Kitten,” he murmured to her.  “My own little Kitten, for all the world to see.”

Hermione looked up at him.  “Daddy,” she said.

And burst into tears. 

A flash of light startled them both.  Moony said something very impolite. 

“Don’t worry,” Danger said from behind him.  “His film’s already melted.  Hermione, love, you were brilliant!” 

She hugged them both, and Moony freed an arm to pull her in.  Then Draco was beside them, and Harry, and Meghan squirmed her way into the very middle of the hug and demanded a kiss. 

“One kiss,” said Moony, bestowing it upon the uplifted nose.  “And one smack.”  He rapped the nose very lightly.  “And now I want both my girls, and then both my boys, and then...”

“Yeah?” said Harry when Moony paused.  “Then what?”

“Then I think we should go home,” said Moony.  “You’re not due back at school until tomorrow, are you?”

Four heads shook.  “Not even for any clubs,” said Draco.  “No Quidditch either.”

“Now you see,” said Hermione, rubbing at her eyes.  “Aren’t you glad there isn’t Quidditch this year?”

Harry and Draco looked at each other with an expression Hermione knew well, one they often shared with Ron.  Girls just don’t get it.  Normally, this irritated Hermione.  At this moment, she didn’t care.  The building could have fallen in, she thought, and as long as it didn’t crush her Pack, she wouldn’t have cared. 

“Let’s go home,” she said, holding onto Moony, and seeing out the corner of her eye Padfoot and Letha both hugging Danger in celebration.  “All of us.”

xXxXx

But they ended up at Hogwarts after all. 

First they had to stop by to tell Dumbledore how the case had gone.  Dumbledore reminded them politely that the rest of the Pride was probably anxious to hear about it as well, and that certain teachers would also want to know.  Professor McGonagall was in the Headmaster’s office in a moment, and Hagrid, summoned by Patronus, in a few minutes more, and there was another round of congratulations and hugging, with Hagrid leaving his victims rather breathless. 

“Think we need a party,” said Ron when everything had settled down a little.  “I mean, Professor, can we please celebrate this?”

Professor McGonagall sighed.  “I’d be a fool to say no, when you’re obviously going to do it anyway,” she said.  “But please hold it somewhere other than the common room, and remember you have classes tomorrow.”

“Kitchen’s the best place for parties,” said Padfoot.  “No need to go anywhere else to get the food.  Whaddaya say, Moony?  Your game.”

“The kitchen sounds like a good idea,” said Moony, smiling at everyone.  “And you’re all invited.  Even you, Minerva.  I know you don’t enjoy noisy get-togethers, but surely you can spare a few minutes for a special occasion like this.”

“Well...” Professor McGonagall looked torn.  “I suppose for a few minutes...”

“Excellent,” said Letha, opening the door to the Headmaster’s office.  “Shall we, then?”

xXxXx

Harry sat cross-legged on the floor, watching Luna trounce the rest of the Pride at Gobstones.  She lined up a shot and knocked Ron’s last stone out of the circle.  Ron screwed up his face to receive the blast.  Nothing came. 

People began to chuckle as Ron held still.  Finally, he opened one eye.  “What ha–”

The stone squirted him.  Everyone laughed as he spit a mouthful of the stuff onto the floor.  “Blah,” he said as three house-elves scurried in to clean it up.  “Thanks,” he added as one of them handed him a washcloth to wipe his face, and another one a glass of water to rinse his mouth out.  “That’s nasty.”

“They make it out of Stinksap, from the Mimbulus mimbletonia plant,” said Neville.  “The undiluted version is even worse.”

“There’s an undiluted version?”  Ron shuddered.  “Remind me never to play Gobstones with your set, Neville.  I’m out anyway.”  He scooped up his Gobstones and stood up.  “Think I need something to take that taste away.”

Harry stood up and followed his friend to the buffet table.  The adults, other than Moony who was sitting with Hermione, were chatting in a corner – Professor McGonagall’s few minutes had stretched into a few hours. 

“Congrats, Harry,” Ron said, lifting his éclair in salute.  “Glad you’ve got Mr. Moony back.  I don’t know what I’d do if someone wanted to take my Dad away.  Why’s the Ministry have to stick their big noses in everything anyway?”

“Maybe to give people like Percy something to do.”

“Percy.”  Ron snorted.  “Stupid git.  Him and his boss.  Crouch keeps promising to put in a good word for Percy with Fudge.  Can’t you just see it?  Percy Weasley, Special Assistant to the Minister?”

“Bet Percy can see it,” said Harry, grinning.  “Bet he likes it, too.”

“Never could understand him,” said Ron thickly through a mouthful of éclair.  “Either he’s missing something or I am.”

“I think it’s him.  And I think it’s called a sense of humor.”

“Think you’re right.”  Ron swallowed.  “Percy wouldn’t recognize a joke if it flew up his backside.  I can’t even remember the last time I saw him laugh, unless somebody higher-ranked than him was laughing first.”

Harry shook his head.  “What kind of life is that?  Never have any fun, never do anything you like, just work all day and hope people notice you?”

“I think that is what he likes,” said Ron, taking another bite of éclair.  “Getting noticed, I mean.  Always has.  Even when we were kids, he always did his chores right on time and stood there until Mum or Dad noticed them.  And he liked to rat us out if we didn’t do ours.  Either that or do them himself and then announce it.”

“Glad I don’t have any older brothers,” said Harry, taking a chocolate chip cookie for himself. 

“Yeah, you do.  But he’s only five days older.”

“That’s not enough to really count.”

“True.  Want to go sit by the fire?”

“Sure.”  Harry picked up a plate of treats.  “With this.”

“Can’t insult the house-elves.”  Ron snagged two fresh bottles of butterbeer.  Thus equipped, they crossed the kitchen to the enormous fireplace, where Winky sat staring disconsolately into the flames.  “We were just talking about your old boss,” said Ron to the house-elf.

“Did you have to do that?” Harry muttered as Winky’s head slowly came up.  “Now she’ll start crying.”

“Winky’s master?” said Winky, staring at them both with great bloodshot eyes.  “You have been seeing him?”

“Well, he was here last week,” said Harry.  “For the first task of the Triwizard Tournament.”

Winky sniffled.  “Is Master... is he well?” she asked tearily. 

“I didn’t get a good look at him,” said Harry truthfully.  “Ron?”

“He looks okay, I guess,” said Ron.  “Kind of tired, though.  Like he hasn’t been sleeping well.”

“Ohhh...” Winky let out a great sob.  “Winky is knowing it!  Winky is knowing it!  Master is not well because Winky is not there to help him!  Not there to help with his biggest – with his greatest trouble – poor Master, poor Master, with no Winky there to help him...”  She began to sob into her tiny blue skirt. 

“Winky is being like this all the time, sirs,” said Dobby, coming up beside Winky.  “She is missing Mr. Crouch terribly, and nothing Dobby nor anyone else can say can make her believe that she is a Hogwarts house-elf now.”

Winky wailed even louder.  “Winky is a bad elf, a bad elf!” she cried.  “Only bad elves is getting clothes from their families!  Good elves has their families and stays with them – only bad elves is looking for work somewhere other than a good family!”

“Wait a second,” said Ron slowly.  “Wait a second...”

Harry looked over at his friend and saw an idea dawning in the blue eyes.  “Are you thinking?” he said incredulously. 

“Don’t tell anyone, all right?”  Ron knelt down.  “Winky,” he said, tapping the elf on the shoulder.  “Winky, come on, look at me.  Right now.”

Winky lifted her head from her hands. 

“Winky, would you like to have a family?  A real wizarding family, and lots of work to do?”

Timidly, Winky nodded.  “But no family is wanting a bad elf like Winky,” she said tremulously. 

“Not true,” said Ron.  “I know a family that would love to have you.  They’d take you on tomorrow if you wanted.”

Harry cottoned on, and turned away for a second to get his face under control.  Ron should think more often.  He’s actually pretty good at it.

Winky sniffled.  “A real wizarding family?” she asked.

“Magic through and through,” Ron promised. 

“Winky would do all the work she wanted?”

Ron grinned.  “I can guarantee it.” 

“And Winky is not getting paid?” 

“Well, not if you don’t want to,” said Ron, looking a bit confused. 

Winky shook her head hard.  “I is not.  No good house-elf is getting paid.”  This was directed straight at Dobby.  “House-elves does their master’s work and they keeps their master’s secrets and they does not ask for anything more!  Especially bad house-elves that is getting clothing!”

“You know, if you went into service with a family, you wouldn’t have to wear clothing anymore,” Harry said.  “I’m sure Mrs... um, the lady you’d be working for... I’m sure she’d let you wear what you liked.”

Winky’s huge brown eyes were focused on some point over Harry’s left shoulder.  “A family... a wizard family... but Winky is a bad elf, Winky should not have a family...”

“Winky, do you want to punish yourself for being a bad elf?” said Harry, seizing the moment, before Ron’s good idea fell apart. 

Winky brought her eyes down to him.  “Yes, sir, oh, yes, sir, Harry Potter, sir,” she said quickly, staring at him.  “Does Harry Potter know how Winky can punish herself, sir?”

“I think so,” Harry said.  “A good punishment takes away something you like, right?  Something you want to do, or keep doing?”

Winky nodded. 

“So your punishment for being a bad elf is that you have to stop crying,” Harry said.  “And stop drinking so much butterbeer.  And take care of yourself, wash up and such.  All right?”

Winky’s lower lip trembled.  “I is not wanting to take care of myself, sir,” she said.  “I is wanting to remember my shame always...”

“That’s what makes it such a good punishment,” Ron said.  “Because you do it even though you don’t want to.  All right?”

Winky looked at the half-filled bottle of butterbeer by her side, then up at Ron again.  “A real family?” she asked again. 

“Real as you like,” Ron said.  “Seven kids, though we’re all at Hogwarts now.  But Percy’s back home since he works at the Ministry, and Mum and Dad are there, and you’d have us all during the summers.”

“Seven children?”  Winky’s eyes were starting to light up.  “Seven children is meaning lots of work... lots of laundry and cooking and dishes...”

“And they’ve got loads of friends, too,” said Harry.  “Everybody here is their friend.  And we’re at their house almost every day over the holidays.  What d’you think?”

Winky picked up the butterbeer bottle, looked at it once more, then snapped the fingers of her other hand.  The bottle vanished.  “Winky is doing it, sir,” she said, lifting her head proudly.  “Winky is bearing up with her disgrace, and finding a new home with a new family to serve.”

“Excellent,” said Ron.  “Now, do you think you could stay here just one more month?  Until Christmas?  I won’t go back on it, don’t worry,” he said hastily as Winky looked frightened.  “It’s just I think you’d make a great Christmas gift for Mum.”

Winky brightened immediately.  “Master is a good son to his mother,” she said.  “May I ask what is Master’s name?”

Harry fought back a laugh at the expression on Ron’s face as he realized just how seriously Winky was taking him.  “Er, it’s Ron.  Ron Weasley.  My sister Ginny’s over there, the one with the red hair, and you’ve probably seen Fred and George, I know they come down here lots.”

“Is they the twins, sir?  The twins with the red hair?”

“That’s them.  The whole family’s got it, it’s like a curse.”  Ron tugged on a hank of his hair.  “And the older three are Bill and Charlie and Percy.  Percy lives at home still, he’s got glasses.  Charlie’s a dragon-keeper and Bill’s a curse-breaker for Gringotts.  And my mum and dad, and that’s everyone.”

Winky nodded, counting on her fingers.  “Nine people,” she said.  “Three who lives at home most of the time, four at school, two who live... where?”

“Bill’s in Egypt right now, but that could change,” said Ron.  “And Charlie’s in Wales, but he comes around a lot.  He’s got a girlfriend named Tonks, she’s a Metamorphmagus so she looks different every day.”

“I’ll leave you two alone,” said Harry, edging away.  He’d only gone a few steps, though, when he felt a tug on his robes.  “What’s up, Dobby?”

“Dobby is hoping to ask Harry Potter a question,” said the house-elf, rubbing his hands together.  “About Master Draco.”

“You know, I really don’t think he likes it when you call him that,” said Harry.  “But it’s all right.  What about him?”

Dobby winced.  “Perhaps Dobby should not ask, then... perhaps Dobby’s question is foolish...”

“No, it’s all right.  What is it?”

“Well, sir... Dobby knows that Master Draco and Harry Potter and their family are living very close to the Wheezies.  And...”  Dobby cast a glance over his shoulder.  “Dobby was just wondering if Master Draco would consent to Dobby being his house-elf again, and going to Master Draco’s family home.  Dobby would not ask for pay from his master, nor days off, no, sir, because Dobby knows that Master Draco does not need a house-elf, and Dobby does not want to be a burden...” Again that odd backward glance. 

“Dobby, do you like Winky?” Harry asked.

A darker shade of puce spread over Dobby’s face.  Harry had no trouble recognizing a house-elf blush.  “You do, don’t you?” he said.  “And you’re happy that she has a family again, but you’re sad because it means she’s going away.  Dobby, do you like it at Hogwarts?”

“Oh, yes, sir!  Dobby loves it at Hogwarts!  Hogwarts is... it is an exciting place, sir!  Dobby likes exciting places!”  Dobby curbed himself sharply.  “But Dobby would not mind if Master Draco’s home was not exciting, because he knows his place, Dobby does.  He knows where he belongs...”

“And that’s at Hogwarts, where you want to be,” said Harry firmly.  “Listen, Dobby, if you like Winky, why don’t you ask Dumbledore for an extra day or two off every month, and you can go and visit her?  I’m sure Mrs. Weasley wouldn’t mind.  Or she can come and visit here.”

Dobby shook his head.  “Winky would not like that, sir,” he said with certainty.  “Winky believes that house-elves should not leave their masters’ homes unless their masters orders them to go.”

“Well, maybe Mrs. Weasley can order her to come and visit you every so often,” said Harry.  “You’ll work something out.  Trust me, you don’t want to go live at the Den.  You and Danger would drive each other up the wall.  Just stay here where you’re happy.  All right?”

Dobby smiled.  “All right, Harry Potter, sir.”

“Shake on it?” said Harry, offering his hand. 

“Yes, sir.”

xXxXx

Mr. Charles Weasley and Miss Nymphadora Tonks (sorry, but it is your name)

Are cordially invited

To a dinner at the home of

Mr. Remus Lupin and Mrs. Gertrude “Danger” Granger-Lupin

And Mr. Sirius Black and Mrs. Aletha Freeman-Black

In celebration of

Mr. Lupin’s recent acquisition of custody of Miss Hermione Granger-Lupin

And the birthdays of various of the party (no gifts required)

Saturday, 3 December

Appetizers at 5:00 PM

R.S.V.P. The Marauders’ Den

  • Previous
  • Next

Author Notes:

Just in case you were thinking I’d forgotten dear Tonks and Charlie...

Had you all worried for a second there at the hearing, didn’t I?   And I’ve wanted Winky to go to the Weasleys’ since book four.   Ah, the power of writing an AU.   :evil laugh: The universe is mine!   Mine, I say!   But I’m willing to share it with you.   More so, if you’ll review.   Next chapter: Yule Ball preparations!