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Chapter Text

“I leave you with these final words of wisdom. If that which you do doesn’t challenge you, it doesn’t change you. Thank you.” 

Hermione stepped back from the ornately decorated podium with a sigh of relief. All that worrying about her speech and it was finally over. The Great Hall erupted in a flurry of applause and gleeful cheering as she took her seat at the head of the Gryffindor table. 

Ginny, sitting beside her, patted her back and gave a reassuring smile. It did little to ease the growing knot of anxiety that had taken permanent residence in the pit of her stomach. For the second time in her life, Hermione wasn’t sure about anything. 

When was the first time? When she climbed the back of a blind dragon to escape Gringotts almost a year ago.

She gave her attention back to Headmaster Flitwick once the hall had quieted once more. 

“It is with great pride that I congratulate you all on a job well done,” he shouted tearfully. “Make the most of life and seek happiness above all!” 

As the room exploded into a cacophony of animated shouting and wholehearted applause, Hermione remained seated as her heart weighed her down, heavy with dread. 

Hogwarts had been her home for so long, and now she would have to leave; cast into the wizarding world that she knew she wasn’t ready for. 

She lifted her gaze to her classmates, her friends. Neville and Luna embraced one another across from her, telling each other their dreams for the future. The very spirited Ginny chatting with her Quidditch teammates and all their prospects. 

Hermione had both a future and all the prospects anyone could need—but she would gladly give them all up to stay here, in the warm and familiar cocoon of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. 

She eyed the professors lined at the podium, watching their students with pride, and yet Hermione envied them. Next year they would have a new batch of bright-eyed first years ready to learn, but Hermione wouldn’t be seated in the Great Hall among them. 

Later, Hermione would cry as she rolled her trunk out of her dormitory for the last time. 

~~~

“Hey, ‘Mione.” 

Hermione looked up from her book to see Harry standing at her bedroom door. 

“Harry!” She jumped up from her seat, tackling him into a hug. They hadn’t seen each other in months. Hugging him, she noticed he even smelled differently. “Let me look at you!” She pulled away to scan her best friend. 

Harry’s hair was actually combed and he was nearly an entire foot taller than she remembered. He barely fit his broad shoulders through the small door of her bedroom at the Burrow. He had to tilt his body slightly just to step inside. She looked at his Auror robes with awe. Red was always Harry’s colour. 

“Look at you! You look great.” She tilted her head with a smile. He gave her a sheepish grin.

“Thanks, Mi. What are you reading these days?” He crouched to take a seat at the edge of her bed and picked up a Muggle book she had been reading. “ The Iliad ? You gone and read everything the wizarding world had to offer already?” he joked, and she shoved his shoulder playfully. She barely moved him as he chuckled.

“I’ve been trying to diversify my reading.” She reclaimed the book and put it aside. 

“Sure, sure.” Harry grinned. He looked at her meaningfully. “It’s been a long time, Mi. Sorry I couldn’t make it to the ceremony.”

“Ah, it’s okay.” She waved him off, taking the seat beside him, bumping his shoulder. Hermione had missed Harry dearly. She was worried that he had been avoiding her after their last get together. 

“How are your parents?”

“Ah, they’re alright. They’ve decided to stay in Australia.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, they seem to like it there. Anyways, what brings you by? Ron with you?” she asked hopefully.

“No, he’s on assignment. Robards has him cross-training with a liaison from MACUSA.”

“MACUSA? That’s brilliant!” Hermione exclaimed, quite impressed. 

“Yeah, he’s always been good at making friends, you know?” Harry grinned. “To think a troll brought us all closer together.” He raised his arm around her shoulder and pulled her into a firm embrace. 

“Right, a troll that nearly killed me,” she chuckled, holding back a sentimental tear. 

“Ha, right,” he said, solemnly. “Listen, Mi, there’s another reason I came by.” Harry released her shoulders and turned to face her. “It’s about McGonagall.”  

“Did you find her?” Hermione gasped.

Harry sighed and his head hung low. 

“I’m sorry Mi, we haven’t found her.” His voice was low as if he didn’t want to say what came next. 

“What is it?” Hermione dared to ask, her heart lodged in her throat. 

“The investigation on McGonagall’s disappearance has been closed and yesterday—” He looked at her sadly. 

“Closed? How can that be if—” Hermione stood up to try and shake off her growing rage. “Yesterday, what? ” she tried not to shout, she didn’t need Molly running in to ask what was the matter. Harry sat up straight, summoning the courage to tell her. 

“As of yesterday, Minerva McGonagall has been assumed dead.”

Chapter Text

“I leave you with these final words of wisdom. If that which you do doesn’t challenge you, it doesn’t change you. Thank you.” 

Ginny wiped a tear from her eye. Hermione Granger was a swot if she ever saw one, but the woman knew how to give a speech. Everything felt more real in this moment, as if the entire world sat in the palm of her hands. Robins and Coote tugged her into a fierce hug as they celebrated. 

“We’ve done it, Captain! We’ve finally done it.” Coote cheered with a goofy grin. Ginny couldn’t help but be swept up by the sentiment and gave a resounding whistle that pierced through the cheering in the hall. 

She glanced at the back of the hall where family and friends sat applauding. Ginny waved at her parents, both of them in a cheerful embrace. She could see by her mother’s rosy cheeks that she had been crying. Ginny gave them both a warm smile before Robins grabbed her attention once more. 

“What’s next, Gin?”

“I’d be mad not to join the Harpies. With Hermiad retiring, they desperately need a Keeper. My mum suggested I take a year off, but I can’t take the chance that they’ll find a replacement in that time,” Ginny said with confidence. 

During her last year at Hogwarts, she had quickly mastered Quidditch, playing virtually every position and settling nicely into being a Keeper. By the end of the year, entire matches were played where their opponents couldn’t score a single point. She even earned herself the nickname The Lioness of Gryffindor , because she protected the goal posts as fiercely as if they were her own cubs. 

“You’re gonna be great, Gin, I know it,” Coote said from behind her. 

“What about you guys?” Ginny asked, gathering her things and walking towards her parents. 

“I sent a few owls to DMGS, I heard they are looking for some scouts,” Robins replied. 

“A desk job?” Ginny stopped in her tracks to look at her friend. “Dem, you’re a hell of a Beater, aren’t you trying out for a team?” 

Robins gave her a surprised look. 

“I’m not good enough to get on a team—”

“Of course you are! I should know,” Ginny argued. 

“Gin. It’s okay, besides, I’m not like you. I don’t want to play for the rest of my life.” Robins put a reassuring hand on Ginny’s shoulder and it felt heavier than she remembered. She looked at Ginny differently now, as if there was something else she wanted to say. “You know I’ll miss you, right?” Her voice thickened. 

“We’ll stay in touch,” Ginny said, brushing the hand on her shoulder. Robins gave her a meek smile and pulled her into a brief hug before pulling away. “Say hi to Potter for me, yeah? Take care of each other.” Robins said almost regretfully and walked into the crowd. 

Ginny stood slightly stunned. She had known Robbins for years and spent countless days, sometimes even long nights, practising maneuvers with her. Somehow, Gin missed the possibility that in the last year, she might have actually developed feelings for Robbins. 

Before she could linger on the thought for too long, Molly and Arthur appeared before her with the proudest smiles she’d ever seen. 

~~~

“I’m not sure what that means.” Ginny placed her hands on her hips trying to understand the words coming out of the recruiter’s mouth. The short and stout woman by the name of Amelia Russel, cleared her throat nervously.

“I’m sorry, Miss Weasley, your application wasn’t selected—”

“You said that already,” Ginny snapped. She did not like it when people repeated themselves, an annoying habit, really. Her mum only ever had to tell her things once. “Are you seriously trying to tell me that I didn’t make the team when I haven’t even tried out?”

“Miss Weasley, we receive hundreds of applications from all over the world. The truth is, if we allowed each applicant to try out, we’d never get through a season. Now if you’ll excuse—”

“I will not! This has to be a mistake.” Ginny waved the crushed roll of parchment at her. Only hours ago she received the very formal rejection letter to her application to join the Holyhead Harpies. She knew it had to be some mistake and rushed straight to their recruitment office in Anglesey to sort it out in person.

Ginny stared at the woman who wore a stern expression now. 

“Miss Weasley, it is true that you are a formidable player and an even stronger leader. There are hundreds of young women that aspire to play for the Harpies. Being the only all-female team means that we are forced to be incredibly selective. We must consider the candidates that will work best with our existing members.” 

Work best? Ginny couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She had put all her eggs in one basket, this basket . 

There were no other baskets. 

Ginny truly believed that she would make the team and now she stood in front of some woman named Amelia who probably couldn’t even kick off the ground with a fucking broom ? 

Amelia turned away from Ginny as if she were a nuisance, and not worth her time. “Now if you will please excuse me, I have—”

Ginny snapped. 

“Oh I’ll fucking excuse you alright!” Ginny lunged at the woman but she hardly moved before two sets of hands wrapped around her arms to hold her back. “Get off me! You!” Ginny tried to point at her but was having some difficulty as she was promptly dragged out of the room by two rather large women. “You’ll be sorry! You’re going to regret this!” Ginny’s voice echoed through the halls for all to hear until she was tossed out of the building. “The Harpies are a shit team anyways,” she shouted as they closed the doors in her face. 

Ginny slammed her fists on the door for good measure before she decidedly caught her breath. She glanced at the Quidditch pitch standing in the backdrop. There were a few players in the air, and her vision blurred. She placed a hand over her mouth to try and stop the sound of a whimper escaping her. 

This was not how this was supposed to go.

Chapter Text

“I leave you with these final words of wisdom. If that which you do doesn’t challenge you, it doesn’t change you. Thank you.” 

Hermione was always such a lovely speaker. Luna admired so much about her, but the way she addressed their fellow classmates felt more like a call to arms than a parting farewell. 

Luna applauded her dear friend as she took the seat in front of her again. And even though this was a happy moment, Hermione seemed a bit weary. Luna reached out a hand to try and give some kind of support until she was pulled from her seat into a firm embrace. 

“It’s over! We’ve done it, lovebug!” Neville said excitedly, crushing her even further. Sometimes Luna wondered if Neville realised how much larger and stronger than her he really was. She took the chance to inhale again as he released her, and when she looked up at him, he wore the most handsome grin. 

“Of course we did, Nev, never a doubt in my mind.” She smiled and stood up on her toes to kiss him. Luna enjoyed kissing Neville, and often, but at the start of the year, she quickly learned how much of a gentleman he really was. She was only reminded of that as he quickly pulled away and looked around them nervously. 

“Luna,” he chastised, “we talked about this.”

She sighed. “It’s only a kiss, Nev, besides, no one is paying attention to the pair of us,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck. “This is a happy day, after all.” 

Luna didn’t have to wait long before he nodded and gave her a kiss, small and short as it was. She didn’t allow herself to get into a sour mood and reminded herself that once they were out of the castle walls they would have plenty of chances to become romantically acquainted. 

“I think my gran is waiting for us.” Neville took her hand. 

“Oh wait—” Luna turned to check on Hermione, but she was too late. The Gryffindor was already making her way out of the Great Hall, alone. Luna would need to check in on her soon. 

~~~

“And this is the famous water cooler .” Evan Gurlik motioned at the perfectly ordinary Muggle water dispenser with a playful grin. 

“Oh, how lovely,” Luna replied, running out of compliments to give to the numerous office ‘fun zones’ they visited on today’s tour. She tried to remember if she had used ‘lovely’ already, but couldn’t recall. 

“And that’s pretty much all of it. I know that’s a lot of information to throw at you on the first day, so if you have any questions, please, don’t be shy,” he said, leaning on the water jug. 

Luna didn’t want to appear ungrateful nor unsettled, but it was hard to conceal the obvious shock that this was all she was to learn on her first day at The Quibbler . A tour of the small, yet quaint office and the supply closet, where she was promised all her needs would be met.

“Miss Lovegood? Everything alright?” Gurlik asked with a tone of concern after she’d remained silent for a moment too long.

“Oh no, I’m just excited to see which column I’ll be assigned. Did my dad mention what’s available?” 

The question really didn’t leave any room for interpretation. Luna was excited to learn everything she could about journalism and she wanted to hit the ground running. 

If there was anything she learned during the war, it was that the media controlled the narrative. The Daily Prophet was weaponized against the Order and Muggle-borns to extremes that resulted in countless deaths and injustices. 

Luna was determined to make sure The Quibbler maintained its integrity and reported the facts. When she told her father she would remain in the family business, he had seemed quite proud of her decision, but now it felt like his staff was handling her with kid gloves. 

“Er, Mr. Lovegood didn’t mention that you’d be working as a writer,” Gurlik replied nervously. 

“Oh, I see,” Luna said softly. “Did he mention what I would be working on?” She kept her tone soft. There was no need to upset him.

“He said you’d be assisting around the office.” 

 Surely Mr. Gurlik was ill-informed.

“One moment, please,” she excused herself kindly. She walked past the water cooler, and into the office space with memos flying in and out of a large delivery shoot overhead.

Directly ahead was the familiar green and purple painted door with a brass nameplate that read [Xenophilius Lovegood: Chief Editor]. Luna didn’t bother to knock, storming in to give her father dearest a proper earful.

Chapter Text

“Minerva’s legacy will forever remain in the hearts of those who loved her. May her memory serve as a reminder that fierce loyalty and remarkable grace are the defining characteristics of a true leader. We’ve asked you all here today because Minerva had quite an estate and she has listed you all by name in her will and testament.”

A man by the name of Evergred Heartlan had been addressing a room of about twenty witches and wizards dressed in different shades of black. Hermione looked around her as she appeared to be the only one who had actually been a student of Professor McGonagall’s.

Everyone else seemed to be either a distant relative, an old friend, or a colleague. Madams Pince, Pomfrey, and Hooch were all huddled in a corner with heartbroken expressions. Madam Pomfrey’s eyes were swollen from crying and Hermione had to look away to keep from weeping as well. 

This was all wildly premature. Hermione knew with every fibre of her being that McGonagall was not dead. She argued as much when she marched into the DMLE to give Robards a piece of her mind. 

Hermione didn’t let Harry stop her from barging into his office, nor did the sight of Kingsley Shacklebolt, seated directly across from the Head Auror, deter her from asking them where they got the gall to call themselves wizards.

Suffice to say, she was promptly escorted out of the Ministry and banned from returning for a period of 30 days. As if that would stop her from protesting the seemingly unanimous decision to stop searching for the beloved professor.

The truth was, McGonagall had been missing about a month after the start of Hermione’s eighth year term. When the term first began, everyone found it odd that she had refused the Headmistress posting, and it instead fell to Flitwick. It was even more perplexing when a new Transfigurations professor was introduced after the sorting ceremony. 

McGonagall was only around to oversee the transition of the eighth years into their programs and ensure that the repairs to the castle were completed. After that, many assumed she was heading for retirement, but when the DMLE dispatched a few Aurors to question the staff about her whereabouts, the rumour quickly spread that she had gone missing.

Hermione immediately reached out to Harry and Ron to see what they knew, but with their Auror training only just beginning, they hardly had any intel on the high profile investigation. So for months, she settled for the odd updates and whatever Harry or Ron managed to learn. 

Before she knew it, she was preparing for her N.E.W.T.s and the end of the year came much faster than she had hoped. After finishing school, Hermione had planned to use her new freedom to search for McGonagall herself, except there were no leads. No one had reported seeing her, nor was there any evidence of foul play. 

As far as the Ministry was concerned, one day she just walked out of Hogwarts and was never seen again. Hermione knew that couldn’t be true. McGonagall was a force to be reckoned with, there was no way she would just disappear without a trace. Judging by the amount of people who showed up to her funeral, and even everyone in this room, she wouldn’t just leave without saying goodbye. 

“Let us begin.” Evergred cleared his throat and unravelled a roll of parchment that fell to the floor. Hermione got comfortable in her seat, surmising this would be a rather lengthy reading. It wasn’t long before she zoned out. 

Every now and again, another person would exclaim with appreciation for some trinket McGonagall had left them. It was hard to ignore the angry whispers of some distant cousins who thought everything should be left to them. 

After two hours, Hermione wondered if perhaps she should just leave. It was unlikely McGonagall had left her anything but a few words of wisdom. She looked around the room to make sure she could make a swift exit until—

“And finally, to Miss Hermione Jean Granger, a student after my own heart.” Hermione swallowed as every eye landed on her. She took a deep breath, determined not to get swept up in her emotions. 

“It is not often that I am astounded by the brilliance of a student. I have always sought to rid myself of the one particular and quite common proclivity among my fellow professors, and that was to assign favourites. 

“In truth, I cherished every student that walked through the gates of Hogwarts. Caring for the wellbeing of children is much more than a maternal instinct but also a responsibility that every educator should assume. 

“I have always carried a Galleon of guilt, a guilt that is now time to confess. Miss Granger, you are the exception. You were my favourite, and not because I loved you, though I did, but because I saw in you the potential to transform and protect this world in ways you may never believe are possible. You will do great things. 

“And so, it is my responsibility and duty to ensure that you go into the world with everything you need to succeed. I, Minerva McGonagall, entrust you with my home and all of its possessions, as well as the contents of my personal vault. May they serve you well.”

The room took a collective gasp that settled into an unnerving silence. Hermione was battling tears and shock at once, not quite sure what to make of anything that was just said. Surely this was a mistake. 

McGonagall certainly did not have favourites.

Chapter Text

“Molly dear, have you seen that file I was working on last night?” Arthur Weasley asked, rummaging through the couch cushions. He’d been reviewing recent raids, signing off on them before they were stored away in the archives. Only to be looked at again by solicitors if and when there was a trial. 

Mostly, the files collected dust. Even still, Arthur was committed to his role. Molly could tell that he missed going on the raids himself, and that his promotion meant more paperwork than he knew what to do with. Most of it ended up in hidden corners of the Burrow.  

“Of course I’ve seen it, I see them all. I’ve put a basket by the door to collect them. Check there.” Molly shouted to her husband from her perch in front of the kitchen stove. She placed a small pot on the hob to make some porridge.

She sighed sadly, dropping but a single cube of butter into the saucer. The summer usually brought her fresh breezes with the incessant chatter of her children about the house or out in the garden. 

But not this summer.

This summer there were no pounding footsteps on the stairs, a signal that her cooking had reached their noses. The laundry baskets were nearly always empty. For once Molly listened to the change of season, and the end of an era. Their nest was empty, or at least it felt like it.

She had been looking forward to having Hermione for awhile, but her stay was short lived after Minerva’s wake. And Ginny—well, Mrs. Weasley hadn’t seen much of Ginny at all, really. Her daughter had become quite the recluse ever since she’d finished at Hogwarts.

It was more than that. The youngest Weasley had made an art out of being as undetectable as possible. Her spoon on the clock had made its home at ‘In Transit.’ Molly suspected that Ginny had tampered with it by now. 

Molly knew the day would come when she and Harry would rekindle their romance. She wasn’t unaware of the fact that they were both adults now, driven by young love, but she hadn’t imagined either of them would let her worry like this. 

On the rare occasion that Molly was able to catch her elusive daughter, she was met with: I’m meeting with a friend, A bit busy, Mum, and Not feeling well, I’ll be in bed, among many other creative excuses that usually ended up with Ginny zooming past without pause. 

Molly had never felt this lonely before. It was why she suspected that Arthur had begun to bring work home with him more frequently. She turned to her husband once more. He sat at the table behind her sipping at his coffee, and marking documents. 

“Arthur dear, have you spoken to Harry recently?” 

If Ginny was set on avoiding her, perhaps having a chat with Harry might be more fruitful.

Chapter Text

“You’re late again.” Augusta Longbottom’s voice was brittle and raspy, it always managed to set Neville’s spine straight.

“Sorry, Gran. Your willow was a bit more handsy than usual. Tried to trim it down—” Neville patted the dirt off his hands. 

“You can tend to it later, you should have stopped in first, or am I just a task to check off?” The once stoutly woman pounded her cane into the ground with a frown. 

Neville’s eyes widened with shock to see genuine hurt in his grandmother’s eyes. It had only been a week since he saw her last, he hadn’t expected her to be so distraught over being an hour late. 

“Of course not!” he assured her, moving forward to take her into his arms. He found he had to be quite careful with her small frame. Somehow she must have gotten smaller and shorter since he went off to finish his eighth year. 

“Good boy,” she hummed, patting his shoulder. “Now help your old Gran into the tea room. I had Ethel brew us some of those leaves you sent me in the spring.” Her bony hands wrapped around his arms as they journeyed into his childhood home. 

“Ethel is still around?” he asked.

“Why of course, she’s got just as many years in her as I have. We are but two young birds with plenty of time to enjoy great-grandchildren. ” 

There it was, the sound of the other shoe dropping. Neville sighed, careful to still support her on his arm, but remained quiet as they turned into the tea room.

It was just as he remembered it, light and airy. Tall screened windows let in a soft summer breeze and sun catchers reflected rays against every surface. His grandmother did always love the summer. 

A short, round table had a spread of fruits and cheeses, and a teapot surrounded by dainty, porcelain teacups. 

“Kneazle got your tongue?” Her voice clipped at him like a pair of sharp scissors. She had a talent for dancing the line between endearing and ensnaring. He sighed again as he helped her into her seat.

“Of course not, Gran.” He took the seat across from her. 

“Then explain to me, why in Godric’s name is that ring still in your pocket? I won’t live forever, you know.” Augusta held fast to her walking stick, pounding it into the ground again to release her fit of frustration. 

“I know. I just haven’t gotten around to asking quite yet.” Neville reached for the kettle when a pop startled him. 

“Master Longbottom!” The gleeful shriek of their family house-elf, Ethel, nearly shattered his eardrums. The soft sound of knocking stones brought his attention to a string of pearls hanging low on her neck. 

“Hello, Ethel,” he said happily as she reached to hug him. He carefully patted the old elf's bony figure. “New necklace?” 

“Oh, yes! Madam Augusta helped me pick them out! Do you like them?” she squealed, holding them up for him to see.

“They are as lovely as your eyes,” he flirted, and Ethel slapped his hand playfully, her cheeks gaining a rosy colour.

“Speaking of lovely eyes,” Augusta commented irritably, her cane finally discarded at her side. “How is Miss Lovegood?” Neville fought the urge to roll his eyes. Ethel snapped her finger and the teapot got to work serving the three place settings. Ethel jumped onto a tall stool behind Augusta and served herself some fruits. 

Neville was forever grateful for Ethel’s presence in his grandmother’s life. The house-elf was much more than a home attendant, she was a companion of sorts. It was a beautiful friendship, really. Before he attended Hogwarts, he had never even known that most house-elves were reduced to a lifetime of servitude.  

“Miss Lovegood didn’t want to come with you?” Ethel remarked, taking a sip of tea. 

“She did, it’s just that she’s started her new job, and we haven’t really had time to see much of each other lately.” 

“Miss Lovegood has a bright future ahead of her, you both do, but that is no excuse not to make an honest woman of her.” Augusta’s voice softened. “There will always be work to do, but time is fleeting, my boy.”

“I know. Don’t worry, I’m going to ask her,” he reassured her. 

“Before or after I die?” 

“Gran!” he exclaimed. “Don’t say that. You’re not going to die.” 

“Nevy, everyone dies,” she said sternly. He looked into her eyes, filled with emotions obtained from years of experience. A soft whine reminded him that Ethel sat beside her. 

“Oh, Ethel, I’m sorry,” Augusta said softly. The house-elf blinked away large teardrops, sniffling. 

“I don’t like it when you talk about dying,” Ethel cried, tears flowing helplessly. Augusta rubbed circles on her old friend’s back, her tiny cotton dress rumpling under her caring hands.

“No one is going to die, alright? Have you been taking those vitamins I sent?” Neville asked, desperate to reassure the distraught elf. 

“Of course, every day,” Augusta said more to Ethel. “As a matter of fact, I am due for them now. Ethel, would you mind retrieving them for me?” 

The house-elf looked up with a hopeful expression, happy once more to serve and aid in the health of her dearest friend.

“Yes, Madam! I can get them for you right now! Wait here.” With a soft pop, Ethel Disapparated, leaving them alone once more. Augusta turned to Neville with a weary smile.

“She worries about me so.” She sat back in her seat to regard Neville carefully. “Just as I worry about you.”

“I know.” He took her frail hand into his. He observed how thin and translucent her skin had become. “I’m going to ask her soon. I promise.”  

Pop

“Madam! I’ve brought you the vitamins.”

Chapter Text

A short walk past the bustling streets of Hogsmeade brought Hermione to a small Hamlet that was home to several dozen humble houses and cottages. The simple dirt road was lined with wooden stakes and alternating iron lamp posts. 

In the distance of the hilly road she could see small herds of cows grazing. It was like an image right out of an old story book, and Minerva McGonagall’s home fit like a glove into the backdrop of the Highlands of Scotland.

It was different from the Burrow. At the Burrow, there were sounds of gnomes chattering away just underfoot and the wooden frame of the home groaned from every passing gust of wind. The clattering of dishes announced that Molly was cooking and the minor magical explosions signalled that Arthur was working on yet another project. But here?

 Water trickled over smooth stone in a nearby brook, and a soft breeze passed through tall grass like whispers. Birds chirped a beautiful song in the low trees around her. 

Hermione had every reason to be at peace, but as she walked through the short iron fence, she felt anything but calm. None of this felt right. This didn’t truly belong to her.

She took it all in, pushing away the growing anxiety in the pit of her stomach. Each step took her to a set of double doors adorned with stained glass trimming. Hermione could just make out a hallway that led down into what looked like a dining room. 

“You can do this, Hermione,” she reassured herself clutching the skeleton key that would open the door to her new home. She placed it in the keyhole and her heart hammered away. This was all wrong.  

The goblin at Gringotts informed her that the home was protected and that only this key would release it to her. She warred with herself and her desire to back away and leave. This moment felt too final. As if by accepting the home, it somehow meant that McGonagall really was gone.

“You’re being ridiculous,” she chastised herself and before she lost all nerve, she turned the key and the lock unlatched with a loud click. A magical barrier fell, like a curtain around the home, remnants of magic seep into the ground and dissipating. 

“Here goes nothing,” she muttered, pushing the door open. It creaked loudly, protesting the sudden shift in its joints. The home was much larger than Hermione had anticipated. With tall ceilings and dark wood trimmings, she wondered if more people had lived here before. 

The entry gave way to a wide hallway, with an archway to a dining room. To her right was a sitting room with some furniture pivoted toward a large fireplace. To her left was a staircase that led to the floors above. 

The home felt stagnant, as if it were untouched for many months. Hermione felt more uneasy as she stepped further into the dwelling. There was nothing left to do now except explore a bit and try to find clues that would help her figure out where her beloved mentor might have gone.

After an initial walk through, Hermione was able to map out the basic schematic. On the ground level there were two sitting rooms, a bathroom, and a sun room that had about a dozen dead potted plants. 

Tucked into the left side corner was a large, well-lit rustic kitchen. Hermione was drawn to its charm, with long wooden beams across the ceiling that met a warm wood cabinet, the length of an entire wall. A cast iron stove seemed to be the statement piece, slightly discoloured yet sturdy. There was a decently sized pantry containing canned goods, bags of rice, assortments of beans, and lentils.

Hermione wondered where McGonagall might have stored any fresh produce or meat. That’s when she noticed several tiered baskets along the window sill. Some held dried herbs, but others held dried or hardened fruits and vegetables. The lack of smell only further confirmed that no one had been around to dispose of the rotting goods. 

One of the two doors in the kitchen led to the back of the property which was overgrown with native plants and weeds. In the short distance she could hear the stream, but couldn’t see it because of all the tall grass and shrubbery. The frame of an iron gazebo stood apart from its surroundings. Sounds from critters and all manner of fauna made her skin crawl. She would need to tend to it if she wanted the home to be presentable again, for when McGonagall returned. 

Back inside the kitchen, Hermione tried to open another door which she assumed led into the basement, but found it locked and sealed. Not even an unlocking charm seemed to work. There was a symbol etched into the door, she recognized it from Ancient Runes, a simple triquetra.

Ignoring the door for now, she headed upstairs. There were three rather large bedrooms with closets, two bathrooms, and a small study, at least it appeared to be a study. There were a few bookshelves with about half a dozen books and a writing desk.

When Hermione climbed the stairs to the final level, she noticed how the stairwell was lined with broomsticks. Each was carefully displayed vertically with small placards that had a description of the make and model. McGonagall had always been a Quidditch fan. 

Once at the top landing, Hermione was faced with a set of double doors, on it was inscribed the same triquetra as the door in the kitchen. She reached for the door knob and gave a sigh of relief when it wasn’t locked. What she found inside however wasn’t anything she had anticipated. Part of her expected perhaps a potions lab, or a proper library. 

Instead she opened the door to reveal a large, open-space attic, and in the middle of the floor was a circle of candles, the wood beneath it inlaid with an unfamiliar painted circular design. Directly across from her stood a podium with a single thick tome. She couldn’t be entirely sure, but she thought she saw it glow just as she had walked in. 

She made her way around the circular pattern on the floor, being careful not to knock over any of the candles. It didn’t escape her that there were unopened packages of candles scattered about the room, over tables and seating arrangements. 

Hermione wasn’t aware of any magical practices that would require the use of so many candles, and they certainly were not used in any form of transfigurations. Something about the arrangement of the candles felt quite specific, almost precise by how they were in a near perfect circle, almost exactly placed apart. So much so that Hermione expected to see a measuring tape nearby, but she didn’t stop to look for it.

Finally standing before the podium, Hermione examined the tome. It was unlike any book she’d ever seen and felt like it belonged among other unique editions on the shelves of Hogwarts’s restricted section. Its simple design made her believe it was probably bound long ago and by hand. 

The cover was decorated with brass corner edges that secured a thick stained leather in place. There were no words to denote the book’s title or name. It lacked any markers or indicators that might have told her who the author was, or how old it might have been.

She hesitated to open it. No one knew more than Hermione the dangerous potential of opening such an ancient looking tome. She could unleash onto the world magic she knew nothing of, but this was McGonagall’s home. Surely she wouldn’t have something so dangerous displayed right in the centre of a room, behind a door that wasn’t even locked. 

Curiosity eating away at her, Hermione lifted her hand to at least touch the binding and feel the leather beneath her finger tips. Almost as soon as she made contact with its thick spine an inscription appeared on the cover. 

Grimoire de Anima

This text is forever preserved until such a day that the magic of Three shall lay their flesh upon it. No shadow shall darken it in any season. Only the protectors of life shall be granted access to its knowledge.

First, one who seeks the truth and whose eye sees beyond the veil. 

Second, one who has been touched by death, and has returned to light. 

Third, one who guards and balances the scales of the divide.

Blessèd Be

The book shuddered in place and the inscription disappeared leaving behind the imprint of the triquetra. Hermione had held and read countless books, but she only knew of one that spoke back.

Chapter Text

Harry sat at his desk, scratching his head and trying to make sense of Mrs. Weasley’s letter. Somehow, she was under the impression that he and Ginny had started dating again, but that couldn’t have been further from the truth. In fact, he had been trying to reach out to Ginny, himself, with no luck.

This last year had been rough on both of them. They had agreed a brief pause in their relationship was for the best as she had to finish her last year at Hogwarts and he was to start his Auror training. Whatever remained of their relationship was left in limbo, but Harry always hoped they would rekindle after Hogwarts. 

For now, Mrs. Weasley’s letter had thrown him for a loop, especially since she seemed to think that Ginny had been staying with him and Ron at Grimmauld, which also couldn’t be further from the truth. 

“Potter!” Robards called across the bullpen. 

“Yes, sir?” Harry stood at attention, nearly knocking his chair over behind him. 

“You used to live with Muggles, right?” 

“Erm, yes, sir,” Harry replied nervously.

“Right, come into my office.” Robards turned swiftly without another word and disappeared into his office. Harry patted himself down to check that everything was in its place; his wand was in the proper holster, badge pinned to his chest, robes buttoned, and boots securely tied and laced.  

He stuffed the letter into a drawer, jogged across the department and slid into his boss’s office. Since his training had concluded, he’d only been inside the Head Auror’s office twice. On his first day nearly a year ago, and sometime at the start of spring when Ron was assigned to a task at MACUSA. 

“Sir?” Harry prompted, the office was surprisingly empty. 

“Potter, yes,” Robards came out from behind a wall divider buttoning up his shirt, clearly getting ready for something. “You aren’t on assignment, correct?” 

“No, sir,” Harry tried not to mumble, but it had been a sore subject lately. With his supervisor on paternity leave and Ron in the States, Harry hadn’t been allowed to enter the field alone. So he’d been stuck on desk duty, archiving old reports and filling out intake forms, or running errands for other field inspectors. The boy who lived had been reduced to doing paperwork and he wasn’t happy about it.

“I have a press conference with the Minister in an hour, so I’ll make this quick.” Robards tossed a file to him over his table. Trying not to appear too eager, Harry calmly reached for the file and opened it to reveal a few Muggle newspaper and magazine clippings. The headlines varied only slightly. ‘Bars and Clubs Experiencing High Levels of Theft,’ ‘SoHo Bandit at Large,’ and ‘Young Bartender Loses her Memory’ were some examples.

“There have been reports coming out of Muggle London. Some of the social establishments have been experiencing unusual magical activity. After what happened in Reading, legal has been giving us grief about blanket tracing, so I need someone to scout the area.”

“You want me—” Harry held his breath as the Head Auror continued.

“It’s not proper procedure to let you out into the field alone, but I don’t have any Muggle-borns available and I need this to stay under the radar. If legal gets even a hint that we have an inspector in the area, they’ll make my life hell,” he clarified, fixing his cuffs. “I just need you to blend in and monitor, is that clear? No intervention, just report back to Remmings with your findings.”

“Yes, sir. Of course. Should I go now to—” Harry scanned the reports for a site of origin. There were a few listed. 

“You’re on the evening shift, you have a few days.” Robards grabbed a nearby robe and pulled it over his shoulders. He waved a hand motioning at Harry’s uniform. “You have some Muggle clothes, yes?”

No.  

“Yes, sir. I’ll head out this evening.”

“Good man.” Robards patted his shoulder and kept it moving, leaving Harry alone in the Head Auror’s office with an actual workable case. Harry couldn’t hide the grin plastered on his face as he signed off and headed into Muggle London to get some clothes.

Chapter Text

“I’m just a photographer, Luna. I don’t actually do any investigating on my own,” Dennis Creevey said over his shoulder. He was weaving in and out of Luna’s view as reporters and journalists went about their day. 

“Of course, I know that—” Luna stopped in her tracks as she nearly collided into a goblin pushing a trolley containing the day's post. She waited for the goblin to continue his path and jogged to close the distance between her and Dennis. “But you must have some idea of when things are happening. You must have heard something,” Luna begged. 

They now stood before some sort of printing machine with ink rollers and a dozen knobs that performed any number of tasks. Dennis pulled on two or three at random, or at least what looked to be random to Luna. She wasn’t really up-to-date on the latest printing technology.

“I already told you, if a journalist identifies a story they call for me. I take a few shots and we’re never around long enough for me to know what’s going on. Plus, I visit about a dozen sites a day. It’s impossible to keep track of every lead, even if they did tell me anything,” Dennis whispered quickly so that no one would hear. 

Luna wasn’t oblivious to the fact that Dennis might be sacrificing a lot just by talking to her. She was an outside source and a representative of a competing tabloid. If anyone discovered that he was leaking company secrets, or story leads, he could lose his job, and he only just started. 

“Come on, Den. I just need one break. One story!” Luna said a little too loudly. Dennis turned quickly to shush her but it was too late. 

“Creevy!” An elderly man called from behind them. 

“Mr. Trecus,” Dennis responded nervously, Luna turned away and tried to act like she was helping. 

“What are you doing?” The stocky man walked up to them, a pipe hanging on his lips. 

“Just getting some proofs over to Mr. Gulch, he asked me to—”

“Nevermind, Morrison needs you over at the Weasleys’ Joke Shop. Adrian is stuck on that Hogwarts piece. Gulch will have to wait.” 

“Right away, sir,” Dennis said, and he was off toward his desk again. 

“Joke Shop?” Luna asked in his ear, catching up with him again.

“Luna,” Dennis groaned. He reached for his camera and stuffed it into a bag. “I don’t have time for this right now. How about I owl you—”

“I’m coming with you,” she said forcefully. He glared at her. 

“I could lose my job, you know.” 

“I was headed over to see an old friend anyways,” she lied through her teeth and all Dennis could do was roll his eyes. 

“Just act cool, alright? Can’t have anyone thinking I brought you.”

With that, they were off to Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes where a small crowd had amassed. Dennis was able to enter the crime scene barricade due to his press badge, but Luna had to settle for trying to blend in.

“If I knew who had done it, I wouldn’t be standing here like an idiot with not one but two missing ears!” George Weasley shouted, frantically waving at the large Weasley figure on the top half of his shop. 

The animatronic had become quite iconic since it was established, with its mechanical arm lifting the tall top hat in the air at regular intervals. Today however, something was missing. Luna looked up to inspect its face to find that one of its ears had been torn clean off.

She could see Dennis snapping away and one Kevinus Morrison interviewing a very angry George. Luna slinked through the growing crowd in order to hear more clearly. Writing pad in hand she got to scribbling.

“When was the last time you saw the ear?” Morrison asked lazily. 

“Which one?” George put his hands at his waist, and Morrison took a deep breath. It was almost as if he were bored. 

“The one missing from your storefront, Mr. Weasley,” he grumbled. 

“I don’t know, I don’t usually enter through the front. Maybe last Saturday?” George answered a bit calmer. “Is all this really necessary?” He indicated to the barricade and Dennis snapping photos at him now. 

“You reported a crime, Mr. Weasley. We just want to write the news,” Morrison said, again as if he had better things to do. 

“I haven’t seen a single inspector,” George said looking around. 

“They’ll send someone to take your statement as soon as they can, I’m sure. Now, do you know anyone who might have had motivation or cause to steal your ear?” 

“Motivation or cause🙺 Perhaps they wanted it to be more—oh, I don’t know—” He pointed at his own missing ear, eyes open wide as if Morrison was missing the point. “Accurate🙺” He waved off the reporter and stormed back into the shop.

George seemed to be disproportionately frustrated. To Luna it felt like an innocent prank, but something about his behaviour indicated that there might be more, and she was determined to find out what it was.

Chapter Text

The Hogwarts Library felt smaller to Hermione now. As if it had shrunken in the last two weeks since she’d been here. She walked through its familiar doors and it felt like home. The smell of dusty old books filled her with a sense of nostalgia that was difficult to process, especially since she had come here with a very specific purpose.

Walking the main aisle she looked down a familiar passage. Her favourite place to sit was just up against one of the fireplaces, devoid of her usual clutter of books, rolls of parchment and quills. She could almost see herself nose-deep in the pages of any one of hundreds of books she had spent hours upon hours devouring within these walls. 

A sharp pang in her chest made her realise how much she longed to sit in her seat, just one more time. 

“Miss Granger?” Madam Pince’s voice had never startled her before, but it did now as the woman appeared as if from nowhere. 

“Oh! Madam Pince, hello,” Hermione greeted the librarian nervously. 

“I must say, for the first time in eight years, I am quite surprised to see you here. Is everything alright?” 

Hermione hesitated to answer. She had spent the last two days trying to open the Grimoire de Anima. In all her studies, Hermione could count on one hand the amount of books that refused to open for her. There was always a clever trick or puzzle she could solve, but this brick of a book seemed to have a mind of its own. 

When she tried to place it in her bag earlier today, it actually flew away from her, taking its place back on the podium. Hermione had to quite literally charm the thing into her bag and seal it for good measure just to bring it here. Standing before Madam Pince now, Hermione was still unsure if bringing it to her was the right choice.

“Miss Granger?” Madam Pince asked again with a worried expression. “I know this must be difficult for you, with Minerva gone…” 

She started talking about McGonagall and the funeral arrangements. Somehow it made Hermione feel worse. She had laboured over the book nearly every waking hour when she should have been turning the house upside down for clues. 

Hermione smiled and nodded at Madam Pince’s attempts to comfort her apparent distress, not knowing it had very little to do with McGonagall. Hermione could hardly refuse the invitation for a cup of tea. 

With very little prompting from Hermione, Madam Pince began a long winded tale about how she and McGonagall started working in the castle around the same time. The minutes passed as Hermione dutifully listened to her speak fondly of her friend. It only then dawned on Hermione that perhaps looking through the house wasn’t the only way to learn more about Professor McGonagall. 

“I remember the last time we spoke. She was so consumed in getting the eighth year program just right. Minerva was determined to make your year as successful and flexible as possible.” Madam Pince stared sadly into the flames of the fireplace as she spoke. “The war had taken so much from you all already. It was almost as though she cared more for your happiness than your education. For weeks, she bargained with the shop owners in Hogsmeade to settle all tabs and accounts through the school. She didn’t want any of the seventh and eight years to worry about finances. She made sure the extracurriculars were fully sponsored—” she stopped suddenly. 

Hermione looked at Madam Pince to find that she held a tissue to her face, eyes brimming with unshed tears.

“You must miss her,” Hermione said softly. 

“I do. She was the best of us. After Dumbledore— well, suffice to say, the war took too much from us already. We at least deserved some time to– oh, my dear. You didn’t come all the way to listen to this old lady mope about.” Madam Pince cleared her eyes and sat up a bit straighter. “Why have you returned to Hogwarts, Miss Granger?” 

“Er, well it’s always nice to visit the library, but,” Hermione reached for the satchel that held the book within. “I’ve been going through some of Professor McGonagall’s things and there was this book.” She grabbed her wand to unseal the bag. 

At first, Hermione was surprised it hadn’t jumped out right away. It had certainly fought her earlier. That was until she opened the bag to find that it was nowhere in sight. 

“It’s gone,” she whispered. 

“What’s that, my dear?” 

“The book, I found this book and— it wouldn’t open.” She turned the empty satchel upside down and nothing came out, not even her personal belongings. The bag was completely empty. “It was right here.” Hermione muttered.

How could it just disappear?

Chapter Text

“That’ll be $48.50,” a very pretty bartender shouted over the music, placing a slip on the counter between them. Ginny blinked a few times to try and read out the numbers on the receipt. But it was all a blur really.

“I’m waiting for ‘nother,” she mumbled, confident that she had ordered another neon blue beverage. 

“Oh no, sweetheart, you’re done,” the blonde said with a small chuckle.

“Girls are pretty,” Ginny said resting her elbows on the bar with a goofy smile. She had been admiring a lovely tattoo of a grape vine that travelled up the bartender’s arm all evening. That was until it, too, became blurry. Now she had to settle for looking into the woman’s stunning blue eyes. A far cry from green.

“That’s cute, but I just need a card, not a compliment.”

Ginny furrowed her brow at the sudden shift in tone. All evening they had been talking and joking, and suddenly she was too good for a compliment?

“I’m just saying,” Ginny replied as if that were explanation enough. 

“Yeah, well I have to go home, sweetie, so cash or card?” 

“What’s a card?” Ginny grumbled, reaching into her purse for her wand. She tried to focus her vision to make sure she didn’t instead grab something else. 

“A credit card?” The blonde beauty answered with a mocking tone. “We take cash, but I don’t have any change.” 

“Credit? Do you guys have a credit log?” Ginny asked hopefully, trying to remember what little she learned from George on finances. Maybe she didn’t have to jinx the Muggle and could open a line of credit instead. 

“Log? No, we don’t have—you aren’t driving home are you?” 

“No,” Ginny scowled. She didn’t know why Muggles were so worried about her driving home, it was their form of transportation after all. She looked up at the waiting bartender once more, then around her to make sure no one was watching. 

“How much again?” Ginny shouted over the music and pointed to her ear. That did the trick as the bartender leaned in to tell her the total. Ginny got her wand ready, just out of view. 

“ Confu— ”

“I’ve got this one,” a familiar voice said from behind her. A hand slammed some paper currency on the bar and another hand gripped her shoulder, roughly pulling her away from the pretty, pretty girl. Ginny slipped her wand away, but it was too late. 

“Were you going to jinx that woman? Is this what you’ve been up to?” Harry Potter hissed at her as they walked into the fresh evening air. 

“Oh, fuck off,” she scoffed, finally pulling her arm out of his grip. 

“You’re drunk,” he said with a tone of disgust. 

“So what? Being drunk isn’t a crime,” Ginny said, fumbling on the curb in an effort to walk away from him. His hand was gripping her shoulder once more. 

“But jinxing Muggles is,” he said angrily into her ear. “Do you realise—” Ginny pushed him away, pulling herself from his hold.  

“Gerroff me!” She shouted, drawing the attention of a few Muggles passing by. 

“Sorry, she’s had a bit too much to drink,” Harry apologised for her and it made her even angrier. Ginny didn’t need a white knight to rescue her, not anymore. She turned away, determined to get as far away from him as possible. 

“Gin—Ginny!” She could hear him running to catch up with her. “Do you realise how many laws you’re breaking? You could be arrested—”

“What? Are you going to arrest me, Potter?” She laughed in his face. 

“I should!” he replied. She laughed some more, finding this entire scene hilarious. For months, all he worried about was his Auror training, yet he couldn’t be bothered to visit her at Hogwarts. He barely even came to her games, and when he did, he always seemed to disappear when the match was over. 

So she laughed, because of course he was around now . Now, when she was at her lowest point. When she had nothing left to make her special, so he could save her yet again. Ginny raised her wrist up in the air. 

“This is how Muggles do it right? When they want to arrest someone? They tie their wrists? Go on,” she shouted, angry. “Arrest me Harry Potter. Take me away!” 

He just stood there now looking at her with those amazingly green eyes that she’d dream about on lonely nights. He stood there in all his glory, judging her, as if he had any right. 

“Do it!” She shouted, and hadn’t realised until then that she was crying. He walked up to her slowly and grabbed her hands, taking them into his. Ginny despised how vulnerable his touch made her feel, and she hated how wonderful his skin felt against hers. 

“I’m not going to arrest you, Ginny,” he said in that soft warm voice she so loved. “Let’s get you out of here.” His tenderness only made her want to cry more. 

“I can’t go home,” she sobbed, thinking of what her mother would say seeing her like this. 

“Don’t worry, I know a place.”

Chapter Text

“Neville,” Luna whispered across a candle-lit dinner. It all took her by surprise when their simple date night was more extravagant than she expected. “This is fancy, don’t you think?”

“You deserve every bit of it, Lovebug.” He reached across the table for her hand with that lopsided grin she loved. She was surprised to find it quite warm. 

“Thank you, Neville. This is lovely,” she conceded and scanned the garden-style restaurant. Patrons of the establishment were seated in similar little alcoves with lush lounge chairs and long, hanging lights. It was certainly quite romantic, and she was sure the bill would be expensive.

Luna looked down at an old dress she’d picked at random. She never really did have anything resembling a decent fashion sense. The bright orange frills at the hem of her skirt, together with the ruffle of feathers around her neck made her look like a bird of paradise, at least compared to the muted coloured robes of the other patrons. She was far from feeling embarrassed, but this place was much fancier than a ‘bite’. 

Genevieve’s Garden was located in the small town of Upper Flagley. Historically it was predominantly a Muggle town with a few wizarding families that blended in for generations. After the war, many wizards seeking to distance themselves from the usual hubs, like Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade, moved north. Upper Flagley had become something of a social retreat with wizarding businesses popping up all over. 

“The braised lamb looks great,” Neville remarked behind a rather tall menu. Luna glanced down at hers and reminded herself that she’d try most things at least once. 

“Hello, my name is Demarko and welcome to Genevieve’s Garden. What can I get started for you?”

The waiter was kind and the food options were amazing. After they placed their order, Luna was finally able to get a better look at Neville. He had small beads of sweat on his face and kept wiping his hands on his pants. 

“Is everything okay, Nev?” Luna tore apart a warm piece of bread and lightly dipped it into a garlic infused oil. She moaned softly at the fluffy texture and just the right amount of flavour. She hadn’t eaten a decent meal all day, so it tasted like the perfect bite. 

“Of course! How was your day?” Neville said an octave too high. Luna narrowed her eyes at him. Something felt off but she gave him the benefit of the doubt. 

“It was good, I spent a few hours at the Alley. Did you hear what happened to George’s storefront?”

Luna paused for a moment noticing Neville really wasn’t paying any attention and instead kept looking just past her. 

“Nev?” 

“Yes, yes, I’m listening.”

“Okay, I was just saying–”

“Actually, I need to tell you something,” he reached his hand across the table again. She raised a brow but placed her hand in his very clammy hold. 

“Neville, you’re scaring me.” She turned to look but he pulled her arm gently. 

“No! I mean, just give me a sec.” Neville inhaled sharply. 

“Seriously, Nev, you don’t look well.”

“Just— Luna, I really love you—”

“Excuse me, some champagne to accompany your appetisers.” 

A waiter placed two flutes of champagne between them. 

“Actually, could we get some water? I don’t think my date is feeling too well,” Luna said, sliding the champagne to the centre of the table. The waiter looked nervously at Neville and it finally clicked. Luna took a better look at the champagne glass and right at the bottom of it was the impression of a ring. 

Luna gasped, bringing her hands to cover her open mouth. Neville stood up from his seat and knelt before her. Somewhere in the distance soft string instruments begin to play. 

“Luna, I am so in love with you,” he said, pulling the ring out of the glass flute. He wiped it off with a napkin and her pulse was racing. Her heart was beating so fast that she thought it might have burst through her chest for everyone to see. 

“After everything that we’ve survived, and all the great times we’ve had this last year, I can’t imagine spending the rest of my life without you.”

“Nev…” she whimpered softly as he knelt down before her. The world seemed to stop spinning just then. 

“Luna, will you marry me?” 

The music quieted, her heart stopped beating and it was just the two of them. She looked into his hopeful eyes and her heart cracked in two. 

“I’m so sorry, Neville. I can’t marry you.”

Chapter Text

Hermione made every effort to understand the sight before her, but it defied all reason, and that was saying plenty.

She had spent the better part of the afternoon retracing her steps in her pursuit of finding the damned book. It wasn’t anywhere in the library at Hogwarts, nor on the path back to Hogsmeade. She didn’t even Apparate to the house in case she might have dropped it in transit. 

The entire trek up to 3 Charmed Way was wasted. Even her exploration of the house proved fruitless, that was until she reached the attic.

There it was, sitting on the podium, exactly how she had discovered it a few days ago. But as she walked up to it, there was one key difference, it was surrounded by the contents of her purse. A few pens and beaten up quills were littered on the podium. Crumbled up notes and gum wrappers were scattered on the floor around it.

Hermione circled the podium, examining the book as if it were an unsolvable puzzle, because currently, it was. 

“I sealed you in my bag.” She pointed her finger at it as if it were an unruly child. “How is it that you are back here with everything that was in said bag?” 

She crossed her arm trying to consider the sort of magic that could have caused this to happen. It could have been a simple return home charm, but that wouldn’t explain how it got out of her magically sealed purse, along with her belongings. 

“I suppose you’re not going anywhere any time soon, but I will figure you out,” she scolded it and didn’t feel the least bit silly as she walked out of the attic. 

The day had been long, and for now, Hermione just needed a nice steaming  bath.

In the short time she had been here, she really hadn’t settled in. It still didn’t feel right moving any of McGonagall's belongings, or unpacking what little she brought in her school trunk. She did however, discover a perfectly clean set of fluffy towels and the master bathroom was stocked with scented oils and fragrant bath salts. 

After the week Hermione was having, it couldn’t hurt to use the sizable clawfoot tub and take a much deserved soak in a steaming hot bath.

Dipping her toes into the hot water, she slowly sank into the tub, letting her skin become accustomed to the extreme temperature. Hermione leaned her head back onto its edge and closed her eyes, letting her muscles relax. It was exactly what she needed right now. 

All was well, except that her mind rarely ever let her be truly idle for too long. Sometimes she felt that her brain was a separate entity that was destined to protest anytime she let her guard down. 

She’d almost wished it was the book or even the events surrounding McGonagall's disappearance that caused her thoughts to wander. Not this time.

A nagging feeling continued to poke at her since she left Hogwarts. After all her education and obsessive studying to get the perfect scores on her N.E.W.T.s, it all fell to the wayside. Everything she’d done in her eighth year was meant to prepare her for adulthood, getting a job, having a place of her own to live in. Except that she found herself heading down a different path altogether. 

Finding out what happened to McGonagall had become the priority almost immediately. It wasn’t the same as hunting the Horcruxes, or evading snatchers, or escaping one life-threatening event after the other. This new, self-appointed task felt like the next call to adventure, except this time, she was doing it alone. Hermione was just solving another puzzle that no one else would admit existed.

Maybe Hermione was deluding herself; in denial about the possibility that someone she looked up to could be dead. 

Her eyes burned as tears threatened to fall. She swallowed, trying to take back control from her overactive mind.

Hermione took a deep breath before submerging herself under the warm water. As if it extinguished the rapidfire growing within the confines of her skull, finally she was able to achieve a semblance of calm.

Satisfied that her thoughts wouldn’t get away from her, she resurfaced to find a glowing apparition of a stag hovering in the air above. 

“Oh my god!” Hermione exclaimed, her body sliding back into the tub, a reaction from the sudden appearance of Harry’s Patronus. Water spilled onto the floor as she gained composure, covered her chest and stared at the glowing animal. 

“Hermione, it’s me, Harry. If you’re there, I really need you to open the door.”

Chapter Text

“What took you so long?” Harry asked, supporting a barely conscious Ginny Weasley on his shoulder. 

“Ungh,” Ginny groaned.

Hermione had run downstairs in nothing but a towel. Her jaw dropped slightly at the sight of Harry basically carrying Ginny over the threshold. 

“Hey, Mione, sorry, I couldn’t bring her to The Burrow like this,” he grunted, finally lifting Ginny into his arms. 

“Is she alright?” Hermione hovered. 

“Yeah, she’s just had a few too many drinks. You have a place for her to sleep it off?” 

“Sleep it off? I’m pretty sure I have a Pepper-Up—”

“Oh, no, she needs to feel this out,” Harry said sternly, stepping further into the home. Hermione furrowed her brow at her best friend. “She isn’t getting any lighter you know,” Harry grunted, repositioning Ginny more securely. 

“Fine,” Hermione sighed. “Follow me,” she instructed, leading the way to one of the bedrooms on the second floor. Once inside, Harry carefully placed Ginny at the centre of the bed where she promptly curled in on herself. 

“Will she be okay in here?” Harry asked, looking around the dusty room with half opened boxes and untouched furniture. 

“I was hardly expecting company,” Hermione scoffed and only realised just then that she was still in a towel. Harry averted his eyes. “Make yourself comfortable, I’ll meet you downstairs for tea.” Hermione backed out of the room carefully. 

Once dressed, she headed to the kitchen, but not before checking in on Ginny. She opened the door down the hall from her own to find that Ginny was neatly tucked in and fast asleep under a thick blanket. Hermione noted that most of the dust was gone, and the musty air was replaced by a fresh floral scent.

She closed the door and made her way downstairs. 

“Do you have any food that isn’t packaged in plastic with a shelf life longer than either of us will be alive?” Harry complained, opening and closing cabinets to discover nothing resembling nutrition.

“Aberforth’s cooking is getting better,” Hermione reasoned, putting a kettle on the hob. 

“This place is a mess. You have gnomes all over the front and back gardens. You sure it isn’t their house instead of yours?” he asked, taking a seat on a stool behind the centre island. 

“This isn’t my house,” Hermione muttered. 

“What’s that?”

“This isn’t my house,” she said more forcefully. Silence loomed between them, as it usually did whenever they had this conversation. 

“Hermione—”

“I know what you’re going to say.” She turned to him, her damp hair flipping over her shoulder. “She isn’t dead, Harry. This is only temporary. I just need to find something that will explain all this.”

“Explain what?” Harry bit out. “You think you’re the only one this has affected? You think you’re the only one mourning?” His nostrils flared and he looked at her expectantly. 

“I am not mourning,” Hermione replied icily and their stare-down commenced. This had become their new normal, constantly coming back to the same standoff. It had been putting a strain on their friendship and it was bound to snap soon.

A gentle chime sounded from the front door, snapping them out of their standstill. 

“I thought you weren’t expecting company?” Harry asked. 

“I’m not,” Hermione said, leaving the kitchen to see who was at the door. The bell chimed again just as she got to the handle. Through the stained glass she could only just make out a familiar figure.

“It that—” Harry started from behind her. 

“Luna?” Hermione swung the door open to find a teary eyed Luna Lovegood.

Chapter Text

“What’s wrong?” Hermione asked, gathering Luna into a soft embrace.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I just didn’t know where else to go,” Luna mumbled, her voice heavy. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Of course not. Are you hurt?” Harry asked, giving her a once over.

“No, no, it’s just—” Luna’s eyes flitted upward, barely regaining some composure. 

“Here, why don’t you take a seat.” Hermione gently pulled her into the sitting room. Harry popped his head out to see if anyone was around before closing the door. 

“I’m sorry, I just needed someone to talk to,” Luna said, wiping her eyes with a tissue. Hermione sat atop the coffee table across from her with a worried expression. Harry remained by the archway as Luna took a few calming breaths before blurting out, “Neville proposed.” 

Hermione gasped softly. 

“Did he? Well that’s great,” Harry remarked with a smile. Luna sobbed, shaking her head from side to side. Hermione had never seen Luna so upset. She was always such a happy person, confident and eccentric at the best of times. Right now, she looked utterly distraught. 

“Harry,” Hermione chastised. 

“Did I say something wrong?” 

“I’m so sorry. Oh my,” Luna sniffled. “I shouldn’t be here, he was your friend first.” She got up and Hermione grabbed her arm before she could get away. 

“Nonsense, you’re my friend also. Please stay, you can talk to me. Harry, why don’t you stop by in the morning?” Hermione turned to Harry with glare. “I’ll check in on Ginny, make sure she’s okay.” 

Harry glanced at the stairwell, considering his options. He took a deep breath and nodded. 

“Yeah, alright,” he muttered. “I hope everything’s okay, Luna.” He came by to give her a quick hug. When he turned to Hermione he was met with a hardened stare. 

“I’ll see you in the morning,” he said softly and left the two of them alone. Hermione grabbed her wand and flicked it at the fireplace, lighting it to warm the room. 

“So, Neville proposed?” Hermione asked carefully. She didn’t want to push Luna to the edge, but she hated seeing her this way. In fact, Hermione didn’t think she’d ever seen Luna cry. 

“Mhm,” Luna nodded, staring off into the fire. “I do love him, you know. It’s just—” Luna remained quiet for a time.

“You don’t have to talk about it—”

“It’s funny. All year I was wondering why he kept handling me like a delicate princess. He’s such a gentleman, you know? But I’m not some defenseless girl who needs protecting.” Luna looked to Hermione for acknowledgement, her eyes still red and puffy. “It all makes sense now, of course he’d want to get married. He’s saving himself for me, and all I can think is, ‘I’m not ready for marriage’.”

“Marriage does seem a bit of a big step,” Hermione reasoned. 

“That’s why I came here. You’re the only one that would understand,” Luna sniffled. 

Hermione bit the inside of her mouth to stop herself from letting her emotions get the best of her. She finally understood why Luna came to her for support. 

When the war ended and Hermione made the decision to return to Hogwarts, Ron had been less than supportive. In an effort to change her mind, he proposed to her. Some days it felt like everyone knew about it, but not many knew exactly what happened between them afterward.

Ron didn’t handle the rejection well at all, and decided that perhaps there wasn’t any future for them, ever. So Hermione was uniquely qualified to be here for her. 

“Things don’t have to be over between you two,” Hermione offered. 

“Of course it’s over. No relationship can handle this kind of rejection—oh he must be so upset,” Luna cried into her hands, and Hermione rushed to her side, pulling her into a hug.

“There, there,” she combed through Luna’s hair. 

“It was so beautiful, you know, there was dinner and music…”

Hermione listened to her friend into the late hours of the night trying to sooth her while also trying not to fall into the same pit of despair. It had been over a year since she’d spoken to Ron and learning that he had travelled all the way to America only made her feel worse.

Before long, Luna had just about cried herself to sleep, so Hermione made her as comfortable as possible before going up to bed herself.

Chapter Text

Harry had been right, there was not a single thing to eat in the kitchen, so Hermione settled for a granola bar and some tea. She couldn’t get much sleep, and after checking on both Luna and Ginny who were steadfastly asleep, she decided to give another try at opening the book. 

So she sat by the tall kitchen island with the book perched on a holder. Rewriting the inscription over and over on a worn piece of parchment wasn’t producing any results. The last drops of ink at the bottom of her inkwell refused to cling onto the well-used quill nib. Her supplies had long since refused to cooperate, so she settled for scrutinising the inscription with the only thing she had left, her haughty glare. 

“The magic of three…” Hermione mumbled, passing her finger over the words.

“That could mean anything. Could be the Deathly Hallows except they aren’t flesh…” In the distance a soft chime sounded, but she was far too engrossed in her task to notice. 

“Protectors of life… like heroes?” Hermione gasped. “It can’t be,” her finger lingering by the phrase. She carefully studied the second half of the text and wrote it down with whatever ink remained on the nib.

First, one who seeks the truth and whose eye sees beyond the veil. 

Second, one who has been touched by death, and has returned to light. 

Third, one who guards and balances the scales of the divide.

Blessèd Be

The wheels in Hermione’s head were turning. It suddenly dawned on her that she was part of a trio, but this couldn’t possibly be about her. There was every indication that the book preferred to reside in this home and refused to be parted from it. 

“Who are you talking about?” She was asking herself but the book seemed to answer, shaking in place. Hermione frowned. “That doesn’t help.”

It was the first time it had done anything like that, other than the inscription appearing at her touch, it didn’t ever move — well it did disappear when she went to Hogwarts, and reappeared back in the attic, but Hermione pocketed that particular theory as the book’s behaviour escalated from a simple shake to a more violent tremble nearly falling from its holder. Just as she grabbed it, Harry walked into the kitchen.

“Hey, Mi. Ginny up yet—what’s that?” Harry asked. 

“Looks like a book,” Luna said softly, taking the seat beside Hermione. 

“It’s never done that before,” Hermione commented, ignoring her new guests as it gave one final shake.

“What? Move? I’m sure you’ve seen hundreds of books move,” Harry laughed, opening an empty cupboard. Hermione scowled at him. She really didn’t want to sit here and pretend they hadn’t had a pretty significant disagreement the night before. 

“I’ll go check on Ginny,” Harry said, leaving them alone. Hermione ignored him and faced Luna.

“How are you feeling?” She tried to ask over the book’s insistent trembling. 

“Alright, just a ball of anxiety now. I don’t have the foggiest idea what I’ll say to him,” Luna mused, staring at the book now. “What are you working on?” 

“Just trying to figure it out. I found it in the attic, it won’t open,” Hermione huffed, pushing her notes away. “This is the first time it’s moved like this, I think it’s trying to tell me something. There’s some kind of riddle.”

“Can I take a look?”

“Er, sure.” Hermione relinquished the now calmer tome into Luna’s hands and something she didn’t expect happened. 

Previously, Hermione’s touch only ever resulted in the inscription revealing itself. The same thing happened once Luna’s hand brushed the cover, but this time, the inscription disappeared and the familiar triquetra imprint appeared in its place. 

It had done the same thing the day she had discovered it.

Chapter Text

Ginny’s mouth was impossibly dry and her head was thrumming to the beat of some wild drum when she woke up the next morning. Her eyes squinted with the sudden appearance of the morning sun. 

“Morning,” Harry said, and the corner of a bed, not her bed, sunk with his weight. 

“Where am I?” Ginny asked, slowly sitting up and bringing her palms to nurse her temples.

“Hermione’s. You didn’t want to go to the Burrow.” His voice was smooth like honey. Ginny had missed that. A part of her hated admitting it. 

“Take this.” He slipped a small phial into her hands. Without thinking, she unstoppered it and drank. Ready to feel the classic burning sensation of a Pepper-Up Potion, she was left waiting for nothing. Her migraine slipped away into a dull ache and her eyes could finally open fully without feeling like she was being blinded. 

“Better?” he asked, her gaze finally landing on his worried green irises. Always the same when he looked at her, sad and filled with worry. She nodded to confirm, settling for having a better look around the room. It was much larger than her bedroom at the Burrow, but with many more boxes.

“Want to talk about last night?” 

There it was, that tone. The tone that should have belonged solely to her father, but even Arthur Weasley didn’t speak to her that way. She loved that about him, that he treated her the same as the boys. 

Ginny looked at her savior now, treating her like a wounded animal, and she supposed she might have been once. But now?

“No.” 

“We should.”

“You asked me if I wanted to talk about it, I do not.”

“We need to talk—”

“We?” 

If her eyes were daggers, she would have stabbed him a dozen times over. His chest rose with a heavy sigh and pursed lips and finally the sad eyes were gone. Good.

“You were drunk.”

“Fucking hell,” Ginny groaned, finally throwing the blanket off of her. She needed to get out of here, or at least away from him.

“Gin, you’ve been jinxing Muggles! Do you even know—”

“Just stop!”

“I will not.” He stood between her and the door. “You must have broken a dozen laws!”

“Only a dozen?” She laughed, side stepping him to try and get through, but he moved to stand before her again. 

“Isn’t that enough?”

“Move.”

“No! You think this is funny?” Harry asked, maintaining his position. 

“That’s right, fucking hilarious.” She just needed to leave. Get out of this place, but he continued to block her path.

“Ginny, talk to me. We can figure this out.” His voice dipped into concern and it was enough to make her snap. 

“We! We? ” She glared at him and it was difficult to concentrate with the look she gave her now. He was on the edge of anger and disappointment, eyes wide open, expectant and he clenched his jaw making his face more linear.

The tension between them snapped as his eyes devolved back into sadness and Ginny wanted to cry. But she wouldn’t, and instead summoned every ounce of courage she could muster. 

“We haven’t been ‘we’ in a very long time, Harry! We only seem to work when you’re saving the world, or when you think I need saving. You don’t know anything about me! So don’t you pretend like you know what I should and shouldn’t be doing. Not after you’ve basically been away for over a year.”

“You said you wanted to go back to school,” he defended, his brow furrowed. 

“I did, but that didn’t mean I didn’t want you!”

And there it was, the plain truth of it. His eyes shifted, they always gave him away. Harry was hiding something, but Ginny couldn’t be bothered to pry and care about him, she’d done enough of that. 

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” she sighed. “I don’t need you. I am fine. So you can go save the rest of the world.” Ginny didn’t care if the words hurt, they couldn’t hurt as much as the lonely nights and endless wave of unanswered letters. 

A knock rapped at the door and it creeped open. 

“You two alright?” Hermione popped her head in to check on them. 

“Yeah,” Harry answered, giving Ginny a final empty look, one she’d likely never forget. “I’m just going.”

And he left.

Chapter Text

Luna barely managed to escape 3 Charmed Way. She had foolishly underestimated Hermione’s determination. From the moment she touched that book, a series of mini experiments had ensued, along with a survey of questions. 

Hermione insisted on figuring out if Luna had ever seen the book in question or if she had any theories on why the book may have reacted the way it did.  She hadn’t, but Hermione was nothing if not thorough. 

Luna caught a break when the witch left to break up a rather intense argument between Harry and Ginny on the second level.

The hectic morning was almost distraction enough to make her forget about the night before, almost. Unfortunately, strolling down Diagon Alley only left her alone with her thoughts. 

The look on Neville’s face last night, when she got up from her seat and walked around him, continued to break her heart. Luna could blame it on some flight response, or the fact that she hadn’t had a single courageous bone in her body at the time.

What she should have been doing now was trying to find him, but instead she stood before Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. A distraction, from her guilt ridden thoughts. 

Twisting the doorknob, she realised it was closed. At first she thought that perhaps it was too early, but the rest of the alley was opened for business with customers strolling along the store fronts. 

Standing on her toes, Luna looked into one of the windows to see if George was around, only to see him slumped over on the floor. 

“Alohomora!” Luna acted quickly. As soon as the lock unclicked, she rushed into the winding shop, fell to her knees beside the unnaturally still Weasley, and turned his body over.

The first thing she noticed was the overwhelming smell of alcohol emanating from his clothes. It was so bad that she covered her nostrils with the sleeve of her shirt. Luna quickly placed two fingers at the side of his throat, hoping this was the best way to even sense a pulse. 

Her chest tightened when she couldn’t tell right away, but a low groan from the wizard sent a cold wash of relief running through her body.

George groaned again, curled in on himself and proceeded to snore. Luna sighed with relief and then disgust as the smell of his breath along with the stench of alcohol caused her to gag. 

“Scourgify. ” She cast several cleaning spells, and while they certainly helped, the smell had permeated through the space; floors and walls. 

This was when she got a proper look around the store. It was a disaster. Shelves had fallen to the ground, spilling merchandise all over the floor. Bottles of liquor lay opened and empty across the counters. In the levels above she could hear the displays playing automatic sounds and marketing announcements. 

It looked as if Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes played host to a duel. 

Luna looked down at George sadly, wondering if a thief had done this. More than likely, George had gone through some kind breakdown, destroying his own shop. 

As she rose on her feet to try and help salvage whatever she could, a sinister sensation overcame her. The hairs on the back of her neck rose and a familiar desire to run started to nag at her subconscious. 

Clutching her wand, Luna scanned the room in the hopes that perhaps she was overreacting to something harmless, like a prank. 

Her ears rang as her senses sharpened and that was when she heard a low, menacing laugh. It came from all around her, growing louder and louder until she recognized it. 

It sounded like George. 

She glanced down to confirm that he was still curled up in a ball asleep, his snoring drowned out by the laugh. 

Almost as soon as it began, just when it was becoming too loud for her to bear, it stopped. 

The shop was silent, except for George’s snoring, even the displays up above had quieted. It was so silent in fact, that she could hear the sound of her heart beating through her chest.

Then a single voice whispered right into her ear. 

“Mischief managed.” 

Luna screamed.

Chapter Text

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Ginny announced as they climbed down the stairs.

“Yeah, no, that’s fine.” Hermione waved, determined not to get in between Harry and Ginny. She was eager to return to Luna and test out a few theories, but when they entered the kitchen, the witch was nowhere in sight. Hermione sighed, disappointed that she had managed to slip away. 

The book lay in the middle of the table. At first, it was still, like it had been for days, but just as Ginny stepped into the kitchen, it began to violently shake, almost jumping off of the table. 

“Got a live one there?”

“How strange,” Hermione muttered, moving her notes aside. She didn’t pick it up right away and instead glanced at Ginny who had started rummaging through the empty cabinets. 

“D’you have any food here? Half this stuff looks older than me,” Ginny commented going through the cabinets. 

“Harry asked me the same thing last night,” Hermione replied absentmindedly. “Hey, Ginny?” 

Ginny turned to her with a frown. “Yeah?”

Hermione grabbed the rumbling book with both hands.

“Could you hold this for me?” She offered the text to the red head, who looked at it with apprehension. 

“It isn’t going to bite me, right? Hagrid’s book did a number on my arm at the start of third year.” 

“No, it won’t bite, I just want to see something,” Hermione held the book out to her securely. It continued to quiver in her grasp. After a moment, Ginny finally reached to grab it. Once in her hands however, the tome became completely still. 

Hermione observed the cover carefully and after a second the inscription glowed and just as she suspected, it disappeared. A moment later the triquetra imprint shone brightly. Almost the same thing that had happened with Luna. 

“Wha—” Ginny began to ask until something entirely new happened. 

The tome hovered into the air, gave a final shake, and opened. 

“Oh my god,” Hermione whispered. 

“What’s going on?” 

“It’s never done that before?” 

“Levitate?”

“No, it's never opened.” 

They both stared at the tome hovering between them. Hermione was scared to touch it, but Ginny’s curiosity won out and just as her fingers brushed the edges of the page, the door beside them creaked open. Both girls inhaled sharply when the book started to glide toward the door. 

“What’s down there?” Ginny asked. 

“I’m not sure. It’s been locked since I moved in,” Hermione replied. Shoulder to shoulder they watched the book disappear down into the shadows. 

“Should we?” Hermione started to ask, but Ginny was already stepping down some steps. Hermione followed after, wand in hand. 

“Lumos,” she heard Ginny mutter in the level below. As Hermione descended the last few steps, the room was alight from the soft glow at the tip of Ginny’s wand. 

“Woah,” they both said as it revealed shelves upon shelves lining every wall. Display cabinets stood as small aisles like bookcases would in a library, except it wasn’t books that lined the shelves. 

“What are they?” Ginny asked, reaching for a small vase shaped glass. 

“They look like… urns.” Hermione examined a shelf nearby. Perfectly lined up, side by side were tiny urns, all different shapes and designs.  

“What are urns?” 

“Muggles use them to hold the ashes of their loved ones.” 

Ginny made a horrified sound and placed the urn back on the shelf. 

“Why in Merlin’s name would anyone keep someone else's ashes?”

“It’s a common practice actually, meant to keep your loved ones close after death,” Hermione answered, now haphazardly looking for the book. It was floating in the air in front of one of the shelves, on which, was an urn that glowed a soft blue colour. 

“Look,” Hermione pointed and they both moved toward the urn in question. 

“McGonagall was into some weird stuff,” Ginny whispered. Hermione ignored her, peaking at the pages the book had opened to. After days trying to figure out its secret she could finally get some questions answered. 

At the top of the page, written in bold handwriting, were the words [Final Cleansing Rites]. Below them, was a template of sorts, with blank spaces meant to be customised, but for what, Hermione was unsure. She placed her finger on the byline and before she could get a good look at the author’s name, a mist of blue haze materialised beside them. 

“Who are you?” A woman’s voice asked and both witches yelped, jumping back a few feet as they stared in surprise at a ghost.

Chapter Text

“Bloody hell!” Ginny exclaimed. “You can’t just pop into someone’s home, you know!” She pointed her still-lit wand at the ghostly image of a young woman with strands of hair peeking out from under a wide brimmed hat and a robe that extended past her feet, giving the appearance of it dragging on the floor. 

For a split second, Hermione thought she was looking at the ghost of Minerva McGonagall, but other than the similar apparel and slightly upturned nose, the ghost didn’t really look like her at all. Her face was slightly rounded and her lips were heart shaped and currently set in a pout. 

“This is my home, foolish girl. Where is Minerva? Who are you?” 

Ginny and Hermione exchanged a look. 

“She’s dead,” Ginny replied sadly. The expression on the ghost’s face faltered, her frown vanishing. 

“That cannot be,” the ghost muttered sorrowfully. “When?” 

Hermione averted her eyes, refusing to acknowledge the question.

“We aren’t sure, actually,” Ginny said slowly. “She went missing last year.” 

“Who are you?” Hermione asked coldly, meeting the ghost's eyes once more. 

“Abigail, Abigail Marie McGonagall. I am Minerva’s sister.” 

From the corner of her eye, Hermione could see Ginny’s jaw drop in surprise and if she was honest, she hadn’t expected that either. 

“McGonagall had a sister?” Ginny asked incredulously.

“She had two,” Abigail said sadly. 

“Two? Is the other—”

“Carrie and I died together. She crossed over many years ago, but I… I remained with Minerva,” Abigail sobbed softly, ghostly tears falling down her face.

“McGonagall never mentioned she had sisters,” Hermione finally spoke. 

“Minerva was always a private woman. The work we did was very important.” Abigail looked over her shoulder. “I see you’ve picked up the mantle, where is your other sister?”

“Other sister? We aren’t sisters,” Ginny remarked, and this seemed to shock Abigail. 

“Not sisters? That’s not possible. Minerva knows the magic needs three sisters. A bond is required to—”

“Hold on, slow down a minute—”

“No, this is wrong. Something is wrong!” Abigail exclaimed and a cold feeling washed over Ginny. She looked over to see that Hermione felt it too. Abigail seemed to glow brighter and a twisted expression passed over her face. “You do not belong here! Begone!” 

As if a giant had wrapped its hands around their bodies, they were lifted in the air and thrusted out of the basement, into the kitchen, down the hallways and out the front doors. They grunted as they were thrown into the front yard. 

The front door slammed shut and a loud hum reverberated all around them. Ginny looked up just in time to see a yellow barrier of magic snap into place around the home. 

“What the hell just happened?” Ginny groaned, assessing her joints as she sat up. When she looked over, Hermione was already sitting up and glaring at the house. 

“I don’t know, but I’m sure as hell going to find out.”

Chapter Text

“Thanks for calling us, Luna, we’ll set him right.” Percy scratched his chin and exhaled sharply as he scanned the disaster that Wizard Wheezes had become. George groaned incoherently as Arthur pulled him to his feet. 

“We didn’t realise things had gotten this bad,” he muttered. Percy waved his wand and shelves began to repair, merchandise flew across the room to their proper place and the empty bottles vanished. 

“This bad?” Luna asked. 

“He’s been a bit down lately, more than usual, actually. Keeps going on about Fred,” Percy said sadly. “We all miss him, you know. But for George?” 

Luna watched Arthur carefully pull his son onto a chair, summoning a blanket to cover him. 

“I imagine it’s a bit different for him,” she finished the thought. 

Once she was sure that George was in capable hands, Luna left the shop. She didn’t have the heart to mention what happened before they arrived, especially not after how worried they looked. With the voice gone and no reasonable explanation, she decided to chalk it up to her overactive imagination. 

After strolling aimlessly down the alley, it suddenly dawned on her that she was due at the office today. Her father had planned a faculty meeting and attendance was, unfortunately, mandatory. 

She went home to shower and change out of the too-bright orange outfit. Luna really needed to update her wardrobe.

Ready to head into the office, she climbed down the winding stairs only to be stopped dead in her tracks when she realised Neville was standing right outside her window. He was peering into the living room and she scrambled back up the stairs, but it was too late. He’d seen her. 

“Luna!” His muffled voice called from outside. “Luna, please! I just want to talk.” 

Luna grimaced, wishing she was invisible. 

“Luna!” His voice travelled to the back side of the house. 

“Time to face the music,” Luna sighed and reluctantly climbed back down the steps. Her palms were sweaty and it took her a second to get a good grip on the doorknob. When she did manage to open the door, Neville found his way back around to the bottom of the steps. 

He stood silent now, peering up at her. 

“Hi,” she broke the silence. 

“Hi,” he replied, taking a deep breath. Slowly, he walked up the steps and his eyes burned into her. “Are you okay?” 

Luna nodded softly and as he grew closer, the guilt began to gnaw at her once more. She had rejected him and still he was worried about her. Then he stood before her, tall and towering like a gentle giant… a broken hearted gentle giant. 

“I’m so sorry, Neville,” she cried and he pulled her into a soft embrace. He passed his fingers through her hair to sooth her and it was somehow worse. She didn’t deserve his kindness. 

“So you don’t want to marry me?” Neville asked finally. Luna pulled her face out of his chest.

“No!” She exclaimed. Her heart split in two when she finally looked at him. “No, wait, that’s not what I meant,” she quickly corrected. Luna pulled away from his embrace. There wasn’t enough oxygen in the air when he was so close. 

“Then what do you mean?” 

“I mean that I don’t know,” she whined. Luna knew it was unbecoming, but there were too many emotions and her mind was all muddy. “This is so fast, Nev. I didn’t expect it.” 

Finally, words that made sense. Understanding flashed across his face and he seemed to breathe easier. 

“Then you aren’t leaving me?” he asked hopefully. Luna gave him a small smile. 

“Nev, I don’t want to leave you, but—” 

“But nothing, we can forget last night ever happened,” he interjected quickly, optimistically. 

“Nev, you proposed to me,” Luna reasoned. “It's not fair if that is something you really want.” It hurt to say it, but it was the truth, at least part of it. Luna didn’t know how to ask him if their relationship could survive this rejection, and she wasn’t sure if she could handle the guilt of what she had done over time. 

“No, you are right, it was way too fast. I was just under a bit of pressure from Gran and I wasn’t thinking.” He grabbed her hands into his. “We can just go back to how things were.” The tone in his voice practically begging her. She eyed him suspiciously. 

“Are you sure?” 

“I’ve never been more sure of anything before in my life, Lovebug.” He gave her a warm smile and it comforted her. “Come here.” Neville pulled her into his arms causing her to yelp and then kissed her like he’d never kissed her before. Ever. 

Without meaning to, she released a low and satisfied moan as his tongue searched for hers, his lips pressing hard against hers.

Perhaps things would be a little different after all.