Chapter Text
Thursday 3rd June 1999
Ares woke from a nightmare drenched in sweat. He checked the time; it was only 4:30 a.m.
It’s because of this wedding. Anyone would think I’m the one getting married. I’m going to fuck her day up, I just know it. My speech will be awful. Then I’m going to have to talk to people. It’s going to be a total disaster and it will all be my fault.
He went to the bathroom, had a pee, splashed water on his face, poured himself a glass of water and drank half. He tipped the remainder over his head. He returned to bed but couldn’t sleep as the impending horror show wouldn’t leave his head. Every terrible scenario ran through his mind, every variation saw him constricted by hideous wizarding robes, smothering him in the way that only formal robes could.
There were so many people coming, every single one was a new opportunity to balls something up. Damn Narcissa. He was grateful to his old friend for stepping in and organising the wedding, but did she really have to invite so many people? One pair of representatives from every single wizarding family on both sides of the war. With his inability to hold a conversation he was bound to say or do something wrong and kick off the third wizarding war.
He missed his wife, she thrived in these situations always knowing how to act and what to say. He just stood behind her nodding at appropriate times. He also missed Theo’s mum, lovely Angelique who had been like a sister to him. He had to carry the whole thing.
He was wide awake at this point and on the verge of a panic attack. He decided to distract himself with thoughts of his mystery witch and his cock responded straight away. She was only the fifth woman he'd been with, but what a woman!
Mind you, even she ran out on him. He didn't even know her name or what she looked like, where she was from or her age; he prayed she'd been an adult as he hadn't thought to check under her disguise, but then again no child would have made it into a cage fight and walked out. They’d billed her as some kind of champion.
All he knew was the witch had woken up something inside of him that had been dormant for a very long time. So much so that he was now wanking daily like a horny teenager. Thinking about her only temporarily relieved his anxiety and there was no way he was going to be able to get any more sleep. It was already daylight so he decided to go for a run. It was looking to be a beautiful day, not that his head would allow him to appreciate it.
Daphne had promised him that her bridesmaid, the famous Hermione Granger, was assigned to help him with his father-of-the-bride duties. That would be another disaster. What did he have in common with a teenager? After all, he’d known Pansy all her life and still struggled to hold a conversation beyond basic pleasantries.
He’d had the opportunity to see this girl in action. She'd been testifying at most of the trials he'd attended, looking all prim and proper in pristine robes with her hair in some kind of frumpy updo. She never broke character, never let any grilling faze her; the only time he’d noticed her show any kind of emotion was at Sirius Black’s trial, Regulus Black’s trial and the inquiry into Remus Lupin’s death. Each time, tears fell silently from her face as she stood side by side with the boy who looked so much like his father.
Yes, she was the girl Sirius and Remus had mentioned; she must have something about her outside the Golden Girl image, otherwise there was no way a man like Sirius Black would have adopted her. Sirius hated those sorts of girls.
Well, he was going to be stuck with her or no one. Pansy sure as hell wouldn’t lift a finger to help him and his own baby girl was worse than he was. She’d rather be trampled by a herd of hungry hippogriffs than talk to people on Saturday. His daughters were the only things that brought meaning to his life and after the weekend at least one was most likely going to hate him for fucking up her wedding.
These thoughts tormented him as he pushed himself further into his run. He'd been out nearly an hour by the time he arrived back at the house and began to stretch off. He had a bath thinking about his witch again but his mind snapped back to the Granger girl. How long before he pissed her off and she ditched him? They all left, one way or another. Even his few remaining friends and acquaintances couldn’t come.
It still wasn't even 7:00 a.m. when he found himself standing naked in front of his wardrobe, staring at the bag containing the hideous robes he had to wear. He shuddered at the thought, not because of the Slytherin-green colour, but because they were robes. He couldn’t give a shit about Hogwarts houses. Yes he'd been a good Ravenclaw winning Quidditch points but his best friends had been in other houses.
He held the offending article up and studied his reflection. His hair was long, straggly and matted, having naturally dreadlocked after more than two years without a comb. His beard was also long and scruffy; he couldn't remember when he'd stop shaving. The man looking at him could easily pass for Rabastan Lestrange.
I look like a fucking Death Eater. No. No. No. I can’t do this.
He sank to the floor and hugged his knees still naked, hair dripping. After another ten minutes he muttered fuck it. He pulled on underwear and jeans. It’s time for it to go.
“Tilly,” he called, summoning his personal elf. She appeared with a loud apparition crack.
“Yes, Master.”
“I need a shave and a haircut, please.”
Tilly was the only one he trusted with a razor. She was better with a cutthroat than he’d ever been. She’d cared for him since he was a baby; she was the one who taught him to shave. “The whole lot, please,” he said, rubbing his face.
She finished in seconds and massaged his face with balm before covering it with a warm towel.
“You’re looking younger already, Master.” She still called him Master, even though he’d freed her when he went to Australia. She wasn’t allowed to go under the strict Australian immigration rules. He’d freed all the elves and she’d cried for days until he explained he’d never get rid of her. It was for her own safety; in case the war took a bad turn. She would never have to answer to anyone else. He then made her Head Elf. She was the brightest and most literate out of all of the elves.
“Now for the hair?” she asked.
“Cut it to my collar to start.”
She chopped and chopped until it was shaggy. She then painstakingly pulled lotion through it, teasing out all the tangles. She held up a mirror.
“You look like you’re back at school again,” she said with a smile.
“I love it, thank you,” he said, fluffing it up again. “You know just what I like. I feel 20 years younger.” He opened a drawer and looked at a happy photo of four smiling Hogwarts students.
I can do this, he told himself.
He walked back to the wardrobe and held the robes up again. “Much better. I’ll try these on properly, then I’ll come down for breakfast in the small conservatory in about 20 minutes or so.”
“Miss Daphne will be so pleased you’re doing this for her.”
“I didn’t actually do this for Daphne, well, not entirely, anyway.”
“You’re like your old self again. Are you wanting me to do anything else?”
“No, not at the moment, thank you. Not unless you’re able to write a speech for me and read it out to the crowd.”
She laughed and disapparated.
He tried on the robes. He looked like a ghost of his youth. He did look much younger. He wondered if he should maybe try dating again, but he’d been put off women in Australia. He also didn’t want to go through all the shit that came with it, talking to strangers and sifting out gold diggers. He was sure Narcissa had a list of women she’d love to set him up with. The thought was terrifying, especially a Narcissa-approved woman. Some pure-blood bore. A perfectly polite society princess. Charming and beautiful, but dull as fuck.
No, he’d rather stay single than that.
He’d got lucky with Estelle, but no more arranged marriages. He wanted a companion of his own choosing. Someone with shared interests. He’d been lonely for most of his life in that respect. He doubted there would be a single solitary woman among the hundreds of guests who would appeal to him.
In any case, he was going to be stuck with some teenager who was probably arrogant due to her fame. She would definitely hate him, they all did. All his close friends were dead thanks to Death Eaters. He absentmindedly rubbed the huge thestral tattoo on his forearm.
He picked up a Muggle pen and notepad for his speech and made his way downstairs, completely absorbed in his own thoughts.
He was still thinking about the speech when he collided with something. No, someone. His notebook slipped out of his hand.
“Shit, sorry.”
They both said it at the same time.
“Oh, you dropped something,” a soft voice said.
Unfortunately, they both bent to pick it up at once and their heads collided.
“Ow.”
The woman stumbled and fell into him. He lost his footing and went backwards, the woman landed right on top of him. Her weight hitting him with a startlingly familiar impact. He got a mouth full of hair, which made him cough. It smelled wonderful, and his stomach gave a flip. He’d smelled that somewhere before.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, lifting herself up, but she was still straddling him. Although at least not on his chest. She was shifting to get up when she froze and stared straight into his eyes. She brushed her hair out of her face and she looked like some beautiful vision of a goddess with this mass of crazy dark brown curls. Hazel eyes, flawless creamy skin, perfect teeth, a cute nose and full, kissable lips that set his cock twitching, his skin tingling, and his stomach doing somersaults. She was still staring at him intently, but now with a slightly confused expression.
“Why did Daphne never tell me she had a brother?”
What a strange thing to say, he thought. “She doesn’t have a brother,” he replied.
“Who are you then? You look too much like her not to be a close relative. You’re her male double with that black hair, blue eyes and those lips.” She blushed slightly.
“I’m her... her... father,” he stumbled over his words.
“Oh, Godric,” she exclaimed, suddenly jumping up. “Mr Greengrass, I am so sorry.” She held out her hand to help him up. “I never expected you to look... well, like you.”
That sounds like disappointment, he thought. Whoever this woman is, she’s taken an instant dislike to me.
She was still mumbling some kind of apology. “Sorry, it’s just that you’re a lot younger and... and...” she seemed to be struggling for words.
That’s not good, he thought. She can’t think of anything polite to say about me.
“Cooler,” she finished.
“Cooler?” he echoed.
“Yes, I mean, I was told you were, er, well, you’re not like I imagined, which was a bit like a cross between a cave hermit and Mr Lovegood.”
He frowned. “What exactly have you been told?”
“Not a lot, really, just you were weird, unconventional and a bit different. So I imagined that to be in a bad way, not a good way. I should have known that anyone Pansy considered to be badly dressed would be the opposite in my eyes. She and I don’t exactly agree on what constitutes good style,” she chuckled. “She said you made a homeless Muggle look good and didn’t like to talk, which is where I got the cave hermit from and she said you were weird and she didn’t understand what you were talking about, which is where Mr Lovegood comes in. Do you know who he is?”
“Yes, he once wrote a story about me in the Quibbler saying I was a Martian or something.” She burst out laughing.
“So you think I’m cool? Nobody’s exactly said that before. Well... not for a very long time.”
“How can I not? You have excellent taste in footwear.” She waved her foot at him. She was wearing a pair of green-and-white converse, similar to the black-and-white pair he was wearing.
Who was this amazing woman? She seemed very familiar.
As if reading his mind, she said, “How rude am I? I’ve not introduced myself. I’m Daphne’s bridesmaid, Hermione, Hermione Granger-Black.”
“Well, Hermione Granger-Black, you’re not exactly what I was expecting either, you are very different from the Hermione Granger-Black I saw give evidence in all those trials. I didn’t realise you had all that hair, for a start. It’s hard to believe you’re the same person. But I have to confess something else now. I have seen you somewhere else before.”
“Where?”
“I’ve just realised, you were staring at me in Sydney Airport. You looked like you’d seen a ghost.” She looked puzzled. “I had more hair and a beard then.”
“You were the surfer wizard? I’m sorry to say this, I did think you were a ghost. The ghost of Rabastan Lestrange to be precise. Considering I’d seen him die a week before, I thought he was haunting me for a split second. I’m sorry, I’m sure you’re nothing like him.”
“It’s okay, I looked in the mirror this morning and thought I looked like him too, hence why I shaved and got my haircut. It’s an unfortunate family resemblance.”
“You’re related?”
“First cousins on my mother’s side.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, we can’t help who we’re related to.”
“No, I mean I’m sorry. I hope you don’t hold it against me. I didn’t actually mean to kill them, I was just trying to knock them out or something, but the whole wall collapsed.”
“Oh, I see what you mean. No need to apologise, I hated them, especially that fucking bitch Rodolphus was married to. No love lost there, I can assure you.”
“Well... thanks, I guess. It’s a bit awkward. Daphne never told me.”
“I did see you one other time,” he said, changing the subject. “In fact, we bumped into each other and this time it was you who dropped something... The Marauder’s Map.”
“That was a witch. A blonde witch.”
“Technically a squib, not a witch, but it was me, Polyjuiced.”
“Why?”
“Silly tradition, I don’t like being in public so I always pretended to be Estelle’s cousin every time to see them off. She looked a lot like Estelle, so people thought we were sisters or something instead of husband and wife. I did it last year one last time for a bit of nostalgia.”
“Why a woman?”
“Well, if Estelle turned up with a strange man, it definitely would have made the Prophet. I’ve got a special cloak now so I don’t need to.”
“You’re the hooded figure from the trials!” she exclaimed.
“I did see you with Astoria at Draco’s, then at several other trials, but let’s rewind a bit. How do you know about the Marauder’s map?”
“I knew them at school, we were three years younger, and they let us have the map when they left, but unfortunately Filch confiscated it from Theo’s mum. So, how did you get it?”
“The Weasley twins nicked it from Filch’s office, figured it out then gave it to Harry not even realising Harry’s dad had been one of the map makers.”
“Do you still have it?”
“No, I gave it back to Harry. I guess it’ll be a family heirloom for when he has his own kids, or he might give it to Remus’s son, Teddy. So... I told you what they said about you. What the hell did they tell you about me?”
“Well, Daph said you were known as the brightest witch of your age and that you were top of the year. Theo said you’re a bit scary, and Astoria said you were nice because you talked to her. Poor Astoria, she has my affliction.”
“What’s that?”
“Shyness?”
“You don’t seem shy to me.”
“Well, we kind of fell into conversation, but normally I wouldn’t have spoken to you.”
“Why? What’s wrong with me?”
“Oh, nothing, nothing at all is wrong with you. I just don’t like talking to people normally. But you seem different. Must be the shoes,” he grinned. “Anyway, I didn’t think you were coming until later.”
“Ah yes, I apologise for intruding. We don’t have many Floo connections as we take our privacy very seriously, so I had to Floo to the Ministry to get to Diagon. I saw a Prophet reporter lurking and I panicked and came here early. I hate the press. They like to make up lies about me. I hope it’s not an inconvenience. I can just bugger off and come back later if you prefer.”
“Have you eaten?”
She shook her head. “I’d been planning to go to the café in Diagon.”
“Join me for breakfast, I was just on my way. I’m afraid the others have already left for the day.”
“That would be lovely, thank you.”
“Tilly,” he called. Tilly appeared, and her eyes went huge when she saw Hermione. She kept looking between the two of them, first at Ares, then Hermione, then back at Ares. Her ears were trembling with excitement and her mouth dropped open.
“Tilly, I’ll be having a guest join me for breakfast. She’s just arrived for the wedding. Please could you show her to her room and then bring her back here to me?”
“It is my great honour to attend the young mistress. I am so happy,” she squeaked.
That’s odd, Ares thought as she escorted Hermione away. Maybe she has a bewitching effect on elves too. He’d never seen a woman like her before. Well, not for years. Get a grip, he told himself. She’s younger than she looks. She’s my daughter’s friend, for fuck’s sake. I’m a dirty old man. I can’t be that starved of female company, surely, that the first one I speak to turns me inside out. No the young girl from Madame Malkin’s who came to fit these robes hadn’t had this effect. And she was pretty enough, he supposed.
He’d also interacted with Muggle women when he’d gone shopping locally and they hadn’t caused this reaction either. Nobody had caused such a reaction apart from the mystery witch? He paused. Could she be the mystery witch? She was the right height and skin colour. No. This famous war heroine fighting Muggle men for money in a seedy underground club. No, it couldn’t be, could it?
He pushed the thought aside. No, there was something special about this girl. It was hard to believe she was the same age as someone like Pansy. Silly, annoying Pansy. Who he’d known since she was in nappies. Pansy seemed like a little girl, he thought. Just the idea of going anywhere near a girl like Pansy was obscene.
But this girl... was in a league of her own.
She was different. She was magnetic. Everything about her drew him in.
Hermione smiled when she arrived at the table. “Where should I sit, Mr Greengrass?”
There was something about the way she said Mr Greengrass that made his stomach flutter. “Sit wherever and please call me Ares.”
“That’s a nice name. Is it after the zodiac or the Greek god?”
“The Greek god. It would be weird if it was after the star sign, as I’m a Libran.
All my family are named after Greek mythology except Astoria. There was a mistake; she was supposed to be Asteria, but Estelle didn’t want to correct the registrar’s error. She said she liked Astoria better. My father was Hades, my grandfather was Apollo.
There’s a Hermione in Greek mythology too; the daughter of Helen of Troy, who was said to be the most beautiful woman in the world.”
“Yes, but I was apparently named after the Shakespearean character in A Winter’s Tale. Still a Greek theme though.”
“Oh, I’ve seen that play. Estelle was quite a fan of Muggle theatre. There are several around here, and we’d often take the girls. Stratford’s only about 20 or 30 miles away, so we saw a lot of Shakespearean plays at the RSC. We’d have a real Muggle night out, get a taxi there and everything.” He stopped mid-sentence, staring at her chest. Is that... I mean are you wearing a Sex Pistols T-shirt? It looks original. Where did you get it?”
“The story sounds a bit far-fetched, and you probably won’t believe me.”
“Try me.”
She launched into a story about how her dad was a dentist and had once been in the Kings Road, browsing Vivienne Westwood’s shop. Westwood had raging toothache, and he offered to treat her. She gave him clothes in lieu of payment. After that, her dad had ended up treating a few other famous punks as well.
“My dad was a bit older than the punks, and he couldn’t really wear the clothes, but he kept them as souvenirs. He did go and see the bands, and he loved the music, but he was really a Bowie fanatic. He’s seen him over 40 times. I was played Bowie in the womb,” she laughed.
“I’m partial to Bowie myself.” He grinned.
“Yes, I remember Daphne saying something now. She said you sang Life on Mars?. She thought you’d made it up.”
Ares was enthralled. He couldn’t remember being able to talk to anyone like this for 20 years. She was beautiful, smart, funny, and the easiest person in the world to talk to. He normally struggled to talk to anyone, sometimes even his own family. He felt as if he were under an enchantment, not wanting to run away, which was his normal reaction to people.
In fact, the only thing running was his mouth. It was as if he’d taken speed. He found himself telling her about the food and how it had all been grown on the estate. He was talking about music, magic, all sorts of things. At one point, he thought he must be boring her. Pansy always walked away from him saying he was weird. Maybe this one is just too polite to do that, he thought.
He stopped talking and saw she was staring intently at him, as if she’d actually been listening. “I must be boring you,” he said. “Tell me about yourself.”
“You’re not boring at all. In fact you’re possibly the most interesting person I’ve met in years.”
She’s definitely being polite, he thought. She began to talk about her parents, her dad loving concerts and her mum ballroom dancing. She told him how her dad would send her to Hogwarts with mix tapes for a Walkman and hundreds of batteries.
“Where are your parents now?” he suddenly blurted out. Her eyes filled with tears, and he instantly regretted it.
“I modified their memories and sent them to Australia with new identities. They have no knowledge of me. I can’t find any trace of them in Australia and it’s huge. I don’t even know if they’re still there. The people who bought their house, the poor innocent Muggles, were murdered by Death Eaters. So I know I did the right thing, but it hurts so much.
My other Muggle relatives seem to have moved house. I took a while to look for them, and... no trace. So Harry is my only family now. He’s my adopted brother. The Weasleys look after us as well, but I miss my parents so much.”
She started crying.
Oh crap, what do I do? he thought. He put his hand on her shoulder in a polite, supportive way. She flung her arms around him and sobbed into his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and softly stroked her hair, the way he did with the girls when they were little. It had been a long time since they’d cried on him. Not since their mother died. Maybe she just needs a dad hug or something, and I’m the nearest thing. He tried to push his earlier inappropriate thoughts out of his head.
After a few minutes her sobbing subsided and she wiped her eyes on her T-shirt, exposing her muscular stomach. Stop it, he mentally slapped himself. “Here, have this.” He handed her a clean handkerchief from his pocket. It was monogrammed with his initials ATG. “Keep it, I have hundreds. Would you like a drink? Tea, coffee, juice?”
“Black coffee please.”
“Here, have some chocolate spread on a croissant. It’s homemade. The elves made it. Chocolate is good for many things,” he said, using his thumb to wipe her smudged eye makeup.
“You remind me of a good friend. He was always making us eat chocolate. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offload on you. I don’t know why I did. I normally hold it together much better. It’s just... this weekend would have been their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary.”
“It’s okay. Tell me about your chocolate loving friend.”
“You might have known him, Remus Lupin.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Was it Remus who gave you the Marauder’s Map?”
“No, Sirius gave it to my friend.”
“Tell me about them at school.”
Oh shit, this will stray into dangerous territory. He hadn’t gone there for twenty years. If he wasn’t careful, he’d be the one crying on her.
“It’s just... I miss Sirius a lot. Not many people knew the version of Sirius who existed before Azkaban. Those who did said he was different, and they’re all gone now. He didn’t often talk about school, only one or two people. He’d mention little funny tales, but not much about himself.”
“Did you talk to him a lot?”
“We had two-way journals when I was in fifth year. I was worried about him stuck in that miserable house with only a deranged elf, a hippogriff, and his vile mother’s portrait for company. I knew the boys wouldn’t write. I got him to write to me instead by saying nobody wrote to me because it was difficult for my parents to get hold of owls. We ended up writing every day and had to keep expanding the journals. A lot of the time it was about things like music. He described how he heard David Bowie for the first time, and how it changed him forever. Of course we had a three-week long conversation about that.”
“Have you finished eating now?” he asked. She nodded. He held out his hand. “Come with me, I want to show you something.”
She blinked at him and obeyed. He was still holding her hand when Tilly appeared to clear the plates.
He excitedly led her to a nearby room. “This is my study,” he said. “It’s called a study because that’s what Father called it, but really it’s my chill-out room.” He watched her glance at the sofa, armchair, beanbags, furry rugs and then she saw it and gasped. The entire back wall was filled with records, and they’d started to expand onto the adjacent walls.
She shrieked with excitement.
She looked at the huge stereo. “Does it run on electricity or charms?”
“Charms.”
“What were you playing last, I wonder? Mötley Crüe? Well, that’s unexpected.”
“It reminded me of something. What do you want to listen to?”
“Actually, I’d love to hear the Sex Pistols again. Do you have Never Mind the Bollocks?”
“Of course.” He replaced the Mötley Crüe record in its correct location, then found the bright yellow and pink album. She flopped onto the large sofa, and he placed himself next to her.
“Dean and Seamus at school, who are doing Daphne’s photography, well, they’re gifted at mixing magic with Muggle technology. They charmed a video player and a TV at school for us. I never thought to ask them to do a stereo. I suppose I could have tried myself, I just didn’t think. The Muggle TV and film nights were great.”
“I miss TV,” he said. “We had it in Australia. We can’t get a reception here, but I do have a TV and video.” He pointed his wand to the opposite corner of the room and cupboard doors flew open, exposing lots of VHS tapes and a TV. “I mainly pick them up second-hand.”
Her jaw dropped open.
“This is amazing. Dean and Seamus have prepared something for Daphne’s wedding. I hope you’re going to be impressed.” She moved towards the records. “Can I browse the records?”
“Yes, just pull forward anything you want to play.”
They discussed loads of albums as she talked about her dad and his younger brother, Steve, who’d been a roadie for bands like Led Zeppelin and Black Sabbath. “Funny enough, he even roadied for Wizzard,” she chuckled. “If only he knew.”
Ares was having the best day he’d had in years. He couldn’t believe she had the exact same tastes. They even liked the same album tracks. He found himself speaking more easily to her than he’d done with his wife after more than a decade of marriage. She was jealous of all the gigs he’d been to, but she told him about a music festival her dad had taken her to in 1996, that had Bowie and the Sex Pistols as headliners in the same weekend.
“It was just at that time after we knew Voldemort was back, but before everything properly went to shit. It was a daddy-daughter bonding weekend. I was still grieving Sirius, but it really helped me.”
He wondered at the closeness she seemed to have had with Sirius. She had clearly cared for him very deeply.
It was mid-morning before he’d realised how much time had passed. Tilly brought them more drinks and asked what they required for lunch. “Shall we just have something light in here?” he asked.
“I’ll go along with whatever you want. I’m the one who’s disrupted your day.”
“I hope I’m not too boring company.”
“Are you kidding? I could talk to you forever. I just feel guilty about taking you away from whatever plans you had. What have I stopped you from doing today?”
“Something I’ve been dreading and putting off for months.” He suddenly put his face in his hands as the familiar sinking feeling of dread knotted his stomach. “My father-of-the-bride speech... I don’t think I can go through with it.”
“Would you like me to help you?” she asked gently. “It’s the least I can do to thank you for the best day I’ve had for a long time. I’ve had to do a couple of speeches recently, and Harry and Ron got me to help write theirs too.”
He suddenly grasped the lifeline, seemingly on offer. “Would you please?” he asked, almost desperately. “I haven’t got a clue where to start.” He summoned his notepad. “See? I haven’t got far. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, can I have your attention please?’”
“Well, the good news is that the dad can get away with soppy and emotional, and there’s no expectation to be funny like the best man. Draco’s speech will be the hardest. Just keep it short and sweet, like how you can’t believe your little girl is getting married, and how nice Theo is, and all that. My friend Fleur’s father broke down in tears and half-garbled in French at her wedding. No one knew if he was crying happy or sad tears, but he still got a big applause. Just talk about Daphne and Theo. You talk and I’ll write.”
“I wouldn’t even have to do this if Estelle were still alive. It would be a mother-of-the-bride speech.”
“That’s actually good. I don’t mean that she’s not here, I mean it’s a good way to involve her and acknowledge her absence. I hear Narcissa has done a lot of the planning, so you should thank her even if she won’t be there. Now, what about Theo’s parents? I understand he’s not a fan of his father, but what about his mother? Can you say something about how happy she’d be or something?”
“Oh, she would be. She was forcibly separated from her own soul mate. It was her greatest wish that the same fate would not happen to her beloved boy. He should have been Theo’s father, not that cunt.”
“Well, that’s maybe a bit too personal, but we can use some of it. Tell me about the first time you saw Daphne and how Daphne and Theo met.”
He talked for a long time and she had several pages of notes. She went back through them all, circling the key points, then made a list. She sat engrossed for half an hour while he watched her with fascination. She was adorable, the way she wrinkled her face in concentration, biting the end of the pen. His heart was thumping loudly in his chest. Eventually, she handed him back the notebook and asked him to read it to her.
“This is perfect. You really are the most brilliant witch.” Without thinking, he wrapped his arms around her in a massive hug. At that point, Tilly appeared with the lunch and they jumped apart, a bit embarrassed. Tilly half-closed one of her eyes before disapparating.
“Did she just wink?” Hermione asked.
“I’m not sure. She's done a couple of odd things today.”
“Daphne told me they’re all free.”
“Yes, we freed them all before we went to Australia and then the ones who turned up afterwards. We offered them all to stay and they all did. I’d take on any elf wanting work. Their only rule is they’re not allowed to punish themselves. It’s the most barbaric thing I’ve ever witnessed.”
“You are a good man,” she said, squeezing his hand.
He felt his face flush. “I’m not a particularly good man. I just wouldn’t be here without Tilly. She’s been with me since I was a baby. I trust her more than most humans. She’s never let me down. She’s more of my family than my own parents were.”
“I’ve never met a pure-blood who thinks like you. You are very special.” She gazed into his eyes.
“I’m not special, I just don’t like cruelty. I know most people think I’m weird, and that’s one of the ways I’m a bit different.” He was feeling a bit overwhelmed. He looked at her gazing at him, and he wanted nothing more than to grab her and kiss her. He looked around to change the subject. “Here, let’s eat,” he said, handing her a plate of food. She broke her gaze and took a plate.
When they had eaten, a different elf came to collect the plates.
“That was Dolly. She was originally a Rosier elf and adored my wife.”
“You must miss your wife a lot.”
“I do, especially this weekend. She was the boss, she organised everything. I’m pretty lost without her. Don’t get me wrong, we weren’t each other’s natural choices, she was five years older, but she became my best friend. We were on the same page, so to speak. She made decisions, and they were generally wise. So I went along with her suggestions. She let me have my hobbies.” He pointed at the records “and tolerated how I wanted to dress at home. We were tied into a Rosier contract. I don’t know if you know what that means?”
She nodded. “Death if you cheat, and you can’t divorce.”
He nodded. “So we did our best to make each other as happy as we could, and vowed not to raise the girls as we’d been raised. We never really argued. So it was as good a marriage as it could be.”
“If you don’t mind me asking... why did you tie the girls into the same contracts?”
“Estelle and Narcissa were cousins. They arranged them.”
“So Draco and Astoria are related?”
“Second-cousin marriages are common amongst pure-bloods.” He shrugged. It was a promise Angelique made us make for Daphne and Theo. To ensure the soul mates would never be parted. Narcissa knew what was coming, Lucius’s Dark Mark had been getting stronger.
We had marks too.” She looked at him, wide-eyed. “They were like possession marks, the Dark Mark outline.” He pointed to his thestral. “We belonged to him, but we weren’t Death Eaters. If I’d have proved myself, it would have been fully activated.”
She stared at him horrified.
Why did I tell her that? He took a breath, amazed at how his secrets were tumbling out. It was as if she were some long-lost confidante. He had never discussed those marks with anyone except Estelle, not even the girls knew. Yet, here he was telling a girl he’d met a couple of hours ago, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Look, it was our parents’ doing. I was sixteen when it was done. She was seventeen when she was forced into her first marriage. The things they did, the Death Eaters. It was terrible. Wife swapping. Rape. The only ones exempt were in Rosier contracts like Lucius. Narcissa and Estelle wanted Draco and Astoria to be protected from the horrors.
The girls don’t know what happened to Estelle before she married me. Please don’t say anything to anyone. It’s why I left the country, so they couldn’t take ownership. I would have taken Draco too if it hadn’t been for Narcissa, they’d have killed her. She was already her sister’s prisoner at that point.
I don’t regret Theo and Daphne, but I do have regrets about Draco and Astoria. Astoria is too much like me and Draco is quiet. They don’t talk to each other and the whole contract seems like a huge pressure on them. Astoria can’t communicate like me.”
“But you’re a wonderful talker. I’ve only ever felt so relaxed with a couple of other people in my life. I feel like I’ve known you forever.”
“Trust me. It’s you that’s special. I haven’t been able to talk like this for twenty years. I’m quiet and withdrawn. Estelle was clever. She made it into a super strength. She made it seem like I was this dark, mysterious, aloof wizard that people were terrified to approach. The truth was I was the terrified one. I just ignored people, and it added to my mystique, but I was frozen stiff, not knowing what to say. Pansy is telling the truth when she says I’m a weirdo. Even with the speech you’ve written for me, I’m still going to fuck it up somehow.”
“I promise that if you can’t speak, I’ll stand up and read it for you. But I’m sure it won’t come to that.”
“It will,” he replied. “I’m one giant fuck-up when it comes to speaking. I would duel anyone fearlessly, but ask me to talk to them and I’m a wreck.” Oh fuck, this girl must think I’m a right sad act. He reached for a wooden box. “Mind if I light up?”
She shrugged. “It’s your house.”
He lit a ready-rolled spliff, took a few drags, then offered it to her. To his surprise, she took it.
“Fuck,” she coughed. “That’s stronger than what my friend grows.”
“Ah yes, I imported it from Holland a few years ago. It self-seeded when we were in Australia, and now it’s gone rampant on the estate.”
“Neville would kill for this.”
“Neville?”
“Neville Longbottom.”
“Oh. Augusta’s grandson. They’re on the invite list, I think. I’ll let him sample it. She is one of the people I’m terrified of speaking to. She’s one scary woman.”
Hermione giggled and told him the story of Neville’s boggart in third year.
“Let’s put on some more music. Any requests?”
“Ziggy Stardust,” she replied without thinking. “It’s probably my favourite album ever.” She started singing along to every word.
He found himself joining in, although he didn’t know all the lyrics like she clearly did. She had a good singing voice. When it came to the line, I kiss you, you’re beautiful. He absolutely wanted to. He drained his mug and called for more drinks and some nibbles.
Dolly came back, and placed plates of fruit, nuts and biscuits in front of them.
“Have some fruit,” he said and gently pushed a strawberry into her mouth.
She giggled and pressed an apple slice between his lips. They laughed, ate, smoked, drank and sang along to more music.
She had slid down the sofa using his lap as a cushion. His long legs were outstretched, feet propped on a beanbag. She'd nodded off. He thought back to his first day on the Hogwarts Express and a young Muggle-born witch in a David Bowie T-shirt who had changed his life forever. He drifted off as well.
A while later he woke. He felt embarrassed as he realised he was uncomfortably hard under her head. Carefully, he gently eased himself out and slipped a cushion into place. He disappeared to the bathroom.
How was he going to survive the weekend in her presence? This girl was completely messing with his head.
He splashed water on his face.
What is going on, Greengrass? he asked his reflection.
Fucked if I know, it seemed to reply. He rinsed his parched mouth and called for more refreshments as he returned to the study.
She stirred and ran to the bathroom.
“Are you okay?” he asked when she returned.
“Yeah, my bladder was about to burst. We’ve drunk so much tea today. How long was I asleep for?”
“Not sure, I nodded off myself.” He lit another spliff and put on some more music. Before long they were dancing and singing to some 1980s power-rock ballads.
She turned to him “If we’re doing glam metal, we need some glam.”
She reached into a little beaded bag and extracted several long feather boas. “This was a gag present for Daphne,” she giggled. “Apparently Muggle women wear them on their hen dos. I know Daph and Theo decided against stag and hen dos, but I thought it might make them laugh.
Then she plonked a pink cowboy hat on his head, drew some eyeliner on both of them, and wrapped the feather boas around their shoulders. They were giggling hysterically as they peered into the mirror above the fireplace.
“There, you look like a Sex-God rockstar now.”
Did she just call me a Sex-God rockstar? he thought, stunned. They sang their way through a few albums, getting more and more stoned. Even he was forgetting to put his records away properly.
“Wait, guess what else is in my bag?”
“What?”
She dragged out a Polaroid camera that looked twice the size of the bag.
“You’re quite the witch,” he said, wagging his finger.
“Sssh.” She put her finger to her lips. “It’s a not-quite-legal extension charm.”
He lit another spliff and put on Mötley Crüe’s Theatre of Pain album. Home Sweet Home came on. They both started to sing. She grabbed him around the waist, and he put his arm around her shoulder. They leaned in close, their hips pressed tightly together.
He closed the distance between them, giving her a slow blow-back of smoke. She exhaled the smoke back into his open mouth. He blew it out and thought fuck it, I’m going to kiss her.
Just as he was about to lean in, the music cut-out, and they both jumped apart. Their hearts were hammering as they realised they had an audience.