Chapter Text
There were only a few things in life that left Hermione Weasley, born Granger, speechless.
But the sight she had to witness before her, or more what she read and saw in her hands before her.
The morning had been calm.
It was so early, only she and the sun had been up, and the big owl that delivered her mail this morning. Luckily, her daughters were still sound asleep upstairs; she could hear the quiet snoring of her eldest, Elaine.
She loved those girls with all her heart, but sometimes the chaos was a tad too much.
Having two balls of pure energy around all the time could exhaust even the smartest witch of her generation.
Wrapping herself in her fuzzy morning coat, Hermione made her way to the front door where the owl normally left the mail.
A habit they had inquired after, her younger daughter Rose having begun pulling at the owl’s tail feathers because she found them so pretty.
A few letters and the Daily Prophet had been dropped by her doorstep.
So, with a cup of freshly made breakfast tea, she had sat down, wanting to read and take in the news before diving into the pile of letters.
But this one lay forgotten next to her cup of tea that slowly was getting cold with every second she spent staring at the paper.
The big, dark words almost screamed at her, and the moving picture under it made her stomach physically turn.
From Hero to Home-Wrecker
Weasley Caught Red-Handed
Underneath the big and bold letters was a small photograph of her husband nipping at Lavender Brown’s neck, then turning shocked in the direction of the camera, his hand still on her goddam bosom.
Suddenly, the quiet house she had enjoyed only seconds earlier was too quiet. She wished for the normal chaos; that this was all a dream.
This couldn’t be reality, she thought, as the photograph began from the beginning once more.
But the smell of the tea, the chirping of the birds outside, and the feeling of the pages of paper between her fingers were all indicators of reality.
And Hermione wanted to vomit.
But in just seconds, the vile feeling in her stomach turned into a boiling rage.
Hell yes, their marriage had been rocky;
Ron was always on the move. His Quidditch career had really started to lift itself up after… after the kids had been there and Hermione had laid down her Auror wand to tend to them.
A decision she hadn’t chosen easily, or really willingly.
It was more that she had been talked to and kind of forced into it by Ron and, by extension, his mother.
But this betrayal was… something else. And that with LAVENDER BROWN, the girl he had gossiped over for years now, whom he had called the next Skeeter as she worked as a reporter at a gossip newspaper that Molly Weasley loved so much.
He had cheated on HER with LAVENDER BROWN.
Was the man mad or what?
The last sentence caught her eye.
“Sources of the Cheaters Quidditch Team have stated that Mr. Weasley would sit out the rest of the Quidditch season for personal reasons...
We all know what these are.”
That meant he was coming home. He was coming to their house, to their kids, after his hands and mouth had touched… this woman.
Had done this, betrayed.
Hermione knew if she saw him now, she would, in all means, castrate him, in the muggle way.
The soft noise of footsteps upstairs snapped her out of her rage; Elaine had gotten up, which only meant that in a few minutes, that smart girl would walk downstairs.
Elaine was too smart for her own good, and Hermione knew the moment her daughter would see her like this, the fifteen year old would know.
And she couldn’t lash out at him, not with the kids in the house.
After all, he was still their father, which was undeniably given just how much the four year old Rose looked like him.
She looked at the unopened pile of letters and cursed.
“Merlin’s tits, this is gonna be a hassle.”
--------------------------
Luna Lovegood, soon to be Scamander, lived in a quiet and kind of weird house that almost reminded one of the Burrow.
But larger and more… like Luna:
whimsical and dreamy with a certain flair that kept your attention.
Flowers of all imaginable colours grew around and on the weirdly shaped house, and mythical animals were sleeping in the yard.
A small niffler, barely a teenager, was sitting next to the front door and was eyeing a glittering wind chime that let out a lovely tune of small notes above its head.
The poor dark furred creature was promptly interrupted when someone just appeared out of thin air next to him.
A bewildered looking witch with brown curls flowing wild around her was standing before him, two younglings with her. One standing next to her, one in her arms.
Spooked by their sudden appearance, the niffler squeaked and vanished between a big hole of the floor panels beneath their feet.
That was the exact moment the door opened, and Hermione Weasley, the witch who had just arrived, looked into the dreamy eyes of Luna Lovegood.
“Oh, I knew the Naggers were whispering about visitors. Hello, Hermione.” Luna seemed like she hadn’t aged a day after the war.
Pale blue and purple flowers were braided into her knee-length hair, and Hermione could hear Rose whisper, “Rapunzel,” as the kid looked Luna up and down.
Elaine, standing next to Hermione, tightened the grip of her arms around herself and kept looking Luna up and down.
“I am so very sorry to just appear unannounced, but…” Hermione knew just how desperate she sounded, but it only showed her real emotions right now.
Before she could explain further, a man appeared behind Luna.
His light brown curls fell into his face, and he gave Hermione a sheepish smile that lifted the glasses on his nose a bit.
Rolf Scamander was a shy and silent man; she had met him before at Ginny and Harry’s wedding last year.
He was Luna’s fiancé.
“Hello, Miss Granger,” he greeted her. Hermione was surprised to hear her maiden name, but then she saw the Daily Prophet in his hand, and her stomach turned once more.
“You look like you are carrying the world on your shoulders, my dear. Why don’t you come in and lay it down for a second?” He asked in a calm voice and paired with that even more calming smile Hermione suddenly felt warmer and saver.
But before Hermione could answer, Rose began to move in her arms as if she wanted to escape.
Carefully, she sat her down and saw how she stared into the hole the niffler had vanished into.
“Moma, I want to pet the nifty,” her tiny voice whiny and high as she looked at her mother, as if she could make the animal reappear again.
Hermione smiled and patted the full head of red-brown curls that currently crowned her daughter’s head, but before she could say anything, Luna moved closer to the child.
“Oooh, a hatchling!” Luna exclaimed in a high pitch and scooped up the small kid.
“We have a whole family of them inside. They are laying by the fireplace. They say it makes their dreams shiny. Want to see?” The older witch poked Roses nose with these words and was awarded a toddler laugh that could melt hearts. And with that, the witch vanished inside, Rose in her arms.
Rolf still held open the door for Hermione and Elaine, who eyed him with skeptical eyes, likely analyzing him. To be honest she most likley did, but he just smiled at the teenager knowingly.
“It’s okay, dear. Just come in. I expect you had a rather long day.”
Oh gods, if he only knew, Hermione thought, as she gladly took his invitation and went into the Lovegood-Scamander house.
An hour later, Hermione was sitting at the kitchen table of this dream like house.
The atmosphere was warm, and the smell of freshly cut oranges drying on the fireplace filled the air.
Everywhere she looked, she found something new and interesting:
the small grass creatures sleeping in cups on the sink, the climbing flowers that decorated the ceiling, bright pink buds greeting her with a warm scent that almost reminded her of sandalwood, one of her favorite scents.
Rolf had made tea for them all, even though Luna and Rose were not really bothering to sit with them.
The two of them were by the fireplace in the open spaced living room, whose walls were a pale silver sheen, and Hermione could swear she could see shadows of birds pass, even though there wasn’t one inside.
The woman and child were cuddling with Nifflers, a loud laugh from Luna filling the room when Rose’s hair became a shiny golden color and a baby niffler hung on it trying to put it in its pouch.
“We told her not to do it in public as much,” . Catching herself using the familiar plural form she had spoken in a lot since her marriage, she made a small grimass. Hermione sighed and took a sip from the tea.
The strong, familiar taste of bergamot filled her throat and seemed to warm her from within, grounding her.
“Why, though? It’s a very rare and fantastic gift,” Rolf smiled at the sight of his wife playing with the child.
“Father doesn’t want her to do it. He finds… it’s weird, and he is embarrassed about it.”
Elaine’s voice echoed almost emotionless but with a hint of slight anger as she took a small biscuit from the basket on the table and dunked it in her tea before eating.
Rolf looked at the kid curiosly , and Hermione smiled, extending a hand to tuck a stray strand of dark brown hair behind her daughter’s ear, which earned her a dismissive look.
Chuckling, she watched her daughter eat the biscuit in such a childish manner. Elaine didn’t show things like that often; even as a child, she had seemed like her soul was already an adult.
Elaine’s eyes made Hermione melancholic every time she saw them.
She had the simular eyes as Hermione’s father, a wild mix of grey, brown, and gold interwoven like a net.
Depending on sunlight, they seemed grey or golden, and always too old for a fivteen year old, too smart, too observant and wise as if she had lived a thousand lives before.
Though it was clear she didn’t inherit it from Hermione’s family if one considered that Elaine was a post war adoptee.
“It's nothing to be embarrassed about,” Rolf said with a certain edge in his tone that Hermione didn’t think the kind-hearted man was capable of. But it certainly got her out od her thoughts.
“It’s a gift, magic itself flowing through her veins and manifesting. Telling her she shouldn’t do it is like telling a bird not to fly.” he continued almost poeticly
Hermione’s eyes almost teared up at this, and Elaine looked at the man in awe. Both were slightly healed from the arguments they had about Rose with Ron.
“Thank you for letting us stay. It will only be tonight. I will look for something more permanent tomorrow. I just couldn’t face him.” Hermione looked into the tea leaves of her now empty cup and somehow wished she had paid more attention to Professor Trelawney’s classes; maybe her future was written in those leaves.
“Mom left in such a hurry, she didn’t even open her mail,” Elaine noted, holding up the letters she had sneakily grabbed from the kitchen table while Hermione had been packing.
Those letters would be a problem later.
Now, Hermione needed to heal, take her kids to play with the Nifflers and other magical animals, maybe even sing with them to the magic flowers.
Tomorrow’s storm was coming nonetheless, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t have a good time.
Her ex Husbans currently had one, so why not her?
The next time she thought of the letters was late at night. Rose was soundly sleeping next to her, all four limbs stretched and snoring like she didn’t have a care in the world.
Thank god Luna’s guestroom had a bed the size of the Atlantic Ocean, or the three of them wouldn’t fit.
Elaine, on the other hand, seemed to be fighting the sleep demon, rolling around in bed, drifting between dream and wakefulness.
Her eyes were tired but somehow aware.
“Remember the letters, Mom. One felt important,” the girl muttered while her eyelids fluttered with heaviness.
Hermione smiled and kissed her daughter’s head.
Always taking care of others, that was just Elaine.
The young witch gave a tone of embarrassment from her and turned her back to Hermione.
“You can sleep, you know. We are safe here.”
And if this was the password to her sleep door, Elaine slipped into the room of dreams.
Hermione herself wanted a dreamless sleep, but her thoughts kept circling.
The picture of her husband in the news was tattooed on her iris.
Not able to keep still, she carefully got up, mindfully not to wake her children.
Next to the bed she saw a small ornamented desk that held a few pages of paper and a quillon top of it , like the universe was calling for her to write the letter she had in mind.
In the dim light of moonflowers, the parchment called to her, silver light luring her in like a siren song.
So she sat down and purred her mind into words like she had done so often.
This was her strong suit, her defense, her warground.
The scratching of the quill tip on the paper was therapeutic and it felt good to finalise her emotions into words.
The soft breathes of her own flesh and blood bleed into the rhythmic sound of the quill, creating a song that empowered her, made her keep going.
After she was done, she folded the letter, not bothering with an envelope, and with a flick of her wand, the letter disappeared into thin air,reappearing on the kitchen table at her house so Ron would see it the moment he was home.
With a deep breath, she laid down her weapon, the quill, and took in her situation.
Her vision shifted to the moonflowers.
Hermione looked at the white, almost ghostly flowers that only bloomed at night.
There was something tragic about them she couldn’t pinpoint, but she was glad they were there.
Like those flowers, her mind bloomed best at night.
Maybe it was their imminent death that made them so tragic.
Slowly, her eyes shifted down to the letters lying next to the light blue vase that seemed to shift colors as soon as one looked at it.
In the dimmed light, the letters almost mocked her, reminiscent of her once peaceful life.
With a big sigh, she grabbed the letters , five in total.
A small noise from the bed made her turn around.
But it was just Elaine cuddling herself more into her sister, who had begun hugging the older kid. Hermione smiled and opened the first letter.
Fanmail.
The first three letters were fanmail to her now-ex husband, flaunting over him.
“I can’t stop thinking of your strong arms and brave heart.”
“You looked so handsome on the front page of the Prophet that I cut it out and kept it by my bedside.”
“I dream of your fiery hair and your smile every night. If you ever tire of domestic life, know that there are witches who would give you the devotion you truly deserve.”
Hermione almost puked as she crumpled the letters and threw them in a tiny basket under the table.
The fourth was a letter from Harry to his goddaughter: Elaine Alarica Roven-Weasley.
Was written on it in Harrys normal sloppy handwriting.
She laid it next to the flowers, planning to let Elaine read it tomorrow morning.
Then she froze.
The last letter had an Embleme on it, one she had last seen when she had gone through her old wardrobe and had sorted out her school uniforms. No that was not true it was 5 years ago when Elaine had gotten a Letter.
In bold colours the Hogwarts Emblem almost smiled at her.
To: Hermione Jean Weasley née Granger
It was written in elegant handwriting.
This was no mistake… McGonagall had sent her a letter.
Reminded of older times , Hermione stroked over the Embleme, in the past when she had gotten that exciting acceptance letter the World had turned upside down.
Maybe this one would do the same.
Carefully she opened the letter as if it was a snake ready to attack, her heartbeat was loud in her ears, she was more nervous than when she had taken her OWLS.
And then finally she freed the text of its compartment holding it in her slightly trembling hand.
To: Hermione Jean Weasley née Granger
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Headmistress’ Office
Dear Mrs. Weasley,
I trust this letter finds you well.
It is not my habit to intrude upon the private affairs of my former students, yet I write to you with an opportunity that I hope will be of interest.
The post of Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts will be vacant come September.
After careful consideration, I can think of no witch better suited to the position than yourself.
Your accomplishments as both student and Auror are considerable. Yet it is your judgment, integrity, and steady resolve , qualities you have displayed consistently, even under extraordinary circumstances , that I believe would serve our pupils best.
I am mindful, too, of your family.
Should you choose to accept, appropriate arrangements will be made to ensure their comfort and well being within the castle.
Your eldest daughter, Miss Elaine Alarica Roven-Weasley, is already enrolled at Hogwarts and will be entering her fifth year this autumn. I trust she will benefit from the stability of having her mother present at the school during what I know to be a demanding stage of her education.
Regarding your younger daughter, Miss Rose Ariadne Weasley, suitable accommodation will be provided within the castle, and I am confident she will find Hogwarts a place of safety, enrichment, and belonging until such time as she herself is of school age.
The position would commence at the start of the new academic year on 1 September.
I would be grateful for your reply at your earliest convenience, as the necessary arrangements must be set in order.
This is not merely a vacancy, Hermione.
Hogwarts is entering a period of adjustment, and I find it prudent to surround our students ,and staff ,with those who possess not only skill, but the maturity to navigate complicated histories with professionalism.
I trust you will understand my meaning.
With warm regards and every confidence,
Professor Minerva McGonagall
Headmistress of Hogwarts
Her tears rolled down her cheeks, tasting of salt and warmth.
They were tears not just of despair, but of hope.
This time, her writing didn’t feel like a fight—it felt like flying.
She was taking herself back with every word.
Hermione Jean Granger
War hero, ex-Auror, Mother