Chapter Text
19TH SEPTEMBER 1979 HERMIONE: 0, GEORGE & FRED: 16 MONTHS
Jean Granger was exhausted, sweaty, and tired, but looking down at the scrunched face of her daughter she forgot the last six hours, enthralled as she was by the tiny eyelashes. Looking up to her husband with a radiant smile, he snapped a picture of his family for the first time before leaning in to kiss his wife’s forehead.
Just then a nurse bustled in, dispersing the magic of the domestic moment. Having not assisted during the birth, Sister Naima Bashir was a new face to the Granger’s, but little did they know (or imagine) that this nurse didn’t work at the Queen Mary Maternity Hospital at all but rather was doing out-reach for the corresponding magical ward at St Mungo’s. By monitoring the magical signatures of hospitals across the country, the department of Magical Maternity were able send a liaison when necessary to explain the soul words of magical children, a role Naima delighted in.
‘Sorry to interrupt,’ she began, ‘I’m here to answer some questions you have about your daughter’s birthmarks.’
‘Yes,’ said Dan, starting up and entering his academic mindset. ‘It seems as if she has been born with tattoos?!’
‘While it might seem alarming, and is often undocumented, many children are born with these kinds of distinctive marks. I am part of a research group that has been investigating these occurrences for many years and, while we cannot explain the origin, we have concluded that these marks are in no way harmful and often grace children who grow up to be very special,’ Sister Bashir stated. It was not all a lie; the marks were indeed harmless, and the exact origin was unknown, but it was fact that since records began magical children had been born with soul marks, magical inscriptions of the first words your soulmate will ever say to you. The Department of Mysteries was initially established to study the phenomena but, after centuries of research, they had unearthed no more than what was already common knowledge among the magical community: the words would appear on the skin when the youngest member of a soul bond was born, an image would embellish the words when they were spoken, and they would bloom with colour the first time the soulmates touched. It was always difficult to explain to muggle parents as the International Statue of Secrecy prevented the revelation of the secret wixen community until their off-springs eleventh birthday. However, thanks to the Wizengamot’s 1887 Act of Reasonable Revelation, St Mungo’s could reassure the parents of the safety and hint at the significance of the markings. When alerted by a magic flare, nurses are dispatched to take note of the individuals for the records department but the words themselves remained private and sacred, so little did Naima know that new-born girl’s skin was not adorned with one mark but two. Yet this was hardly an oversight on Sister Bashir’s part for it had been millennia since a triad bond was last documented.
‘Have you settled on a name?’ she asked.
Dan took up the copy of ‘A Winter’s Tale’ from where it had been discarded, the pages now crumpled (a victim of Jean’s tight grasp during contractions) and held it up for his wife’s approval. She nodded fondly.
‘Hermione,’ Dan stated to the nurse, who made a note on her clipboard before excusing herself. Grinning from the knowledge that somewhere in the wizarding world another child would see tangible proof of their eternal happiness appearing on their skin, Naima slipped into an empty room and discretely apparated away.
Unaware of the meaning of the gentle pop, back inside the room Jean was gently passing Hermione to be held by her father for the first time. Tentatively, Dan settled his daughter and kissed the downy wisps of hair. ‘She had not been, nor was to be equall’d,’ (5.i.100) he recited, marveling at the life they had created.
Tucked snuggly inside her blanket, the black script on each of Hermione’s wrists glowed and half-way across the country Molly Weasley gasped as she attempted to wash jam off Fred and George.
Splashing naked in the sink, the twins suddenly stopped their giggles and blissful smiles spread across their faces as a glowing light grew on each of their bodies. Realizing what was happening, Molly called excitedly for Arthur who came running into the kitchen.
‘What’s wrong?’ he demanded breathlessly. Without a word, Molly pointed at the twins who were behaving perfectly, entranced by their shining skin. With a grin, he took Molly’s hand and traced his words that ran along her thumb and the infinity symbol behind them. Would you like to be my friend? words said at six years old that had given him the best confidant, partner, and family he could have ever dreamed on. Molly pressed her cheek against his shoulder where her reply (I think I’ll be your best friend) sat, placed a hand on the slight bump in her stomach where their youngest child was growing, and turned to watch the miracle occur for her twins.
The glowing had now subsided, and black script swept across each child. Along Fred’s forearm read please could you give me a hand while George’s chest displayed the statement, you’re in my light. The letters were only just big enough to make out on the toddlers’ little bodies but sitting in the water with such ecstatic grins on their faces, Molly couldn’t resist. With a small flick of her wand and a muttered ‘accio’, the camera divested itself of laundry and zipped across the homely kitchen. Just as the picture was snapped a mud-covered Charlie kicked open the back door and ran in.
‘Mum! Mum, look! I caught a gnome,’ he shouted and, indeed, between his grubby fingers was clasped a grumpy and expletive uttering gnome. ‘Oh,’ he exhaled, taking in the scene at the sink, ‘they got their words!’ Fascinated by the development in his little brothers’ lives, Charlie dropped the gnome in favour of the new excitement and only a speedy ‘stupefy’ from Arthur saved the kitchen from utter devastation. ‘We’ll be able to tell them apart now,’ asserted Charlie with all the gravitas a seven-year-old could possess, ‘do you think maybe their soul mates are twins too?’
‘Oh, wouldn’t that be sweet!’ came Molly’s exclamation.
With an indulgent smile Arthur ushered his second son out of the kitchen, leaving the twins apparently mesmerized with their soul marks and Molly watching over them, a jammy dish cloth in hand.