Homecoming (11/?)
Title: Homecoming (11/?)
Rating: R (eventually)
Status: In Progress
Author: maggiemerc
Characters/Pairing: Harry/Hermione
Disclaimer: Do not own them. The only profit I seek is an ego boost from good feedback.
Summary: Hermione's back in England after fifteen years abroad. Harry's hunting for a new dark wizard. Ron's anticipating the arrival of a baby. Ginny is looking for love in new and diverse places. It's a HP/HG tale with much love for those Weasely kids, because they're not bad people.
Author's Note: Sorry about the delay. I got caught up accidentally watching the entirety of The Good Wife. Oops!
Somehow Sarah had managed to choose a warehouse in one of the seediest districts in London. Hermione was in her father’s car and didn’t relish the idea of leaving it out on the street. The kids, clearly truant from school, made their way over the bridge and into the estate where they lived. The bridge was just over a tributary of the Thames and the water was a bit more still then the general river. The stagnant smell moved through the vents of the car and straight up Hermione’s nose.
She sneezed involuntarily and ducked down in her seat a bit. Another small group of kids came out of what looked to be a pub and headed onto the bridge. They pushed and jostled each other and laughed too loudly. So definitely a pub, and it was barely noon.
Hermione looked to the building her car was parked in front of. It was a warehouse that had seen better days, as had the area it was located in. The other warehouses it was nestled between all had a bit of activity. Pasty fellows with penchants for gruddy undershirts lolled about outside smoking and spitting. A boat was docked behind one of the warehouses and Hermione could just make out the men unloading stores from the cargo holds.
Her own warehouse, purchased by her erstwhile assistant, sat empty. Soon, if all went right, boats would be coming and going; exporting butterbeer and importing gillyweed and other difficult to come by items. She still had to arrange a meeting with George to see about handling the shipping for his products. Ron had mentioned his need of an honest exporter who could manage all the forms. Apparently they were really “doing his head in.” Hermione had only seen a few photos Sarah had owled over the night before, but she was already working out how she’d arrange things inside. Where the offices would go and where the portkeys would be installed. She was itching to get started on the project.
Only Sarah hadn’t arrived with the keys yet. Hermione could have just gone and opened the door with her wand, but she preferred staying in her warm car with her hot cup of coffee. She took a sip and winced. It was bitter with the taste of burned beans. She’d have to remember skipping that particular coffee shop in the future or add considerably more milk to her drink.
Then there was some tapping to take her mind of the coffee. Three times quickly and then a long steady series of taps. She turned to see Sarah leaning against her window tapping her finger and steaming the glass with her breath. Hermione took a big sip of her coffee and settled it in the coffee holder then opened the door.
“I was beginning to think you’d gone back to America,” she said as she got out of the car.
“I thought about it. Bloody cold here.” Sarah hugged herself to reinforce her statement, though it was hardly necessary.
“Miss it already?”
“South Africa I miss. Glad to be out of America actually. People kept thinking I was a mentally deficient Brit.” Sarah’s accent was extraordinarily strong. She’d grown up speaking Afrikaans and only spoke English outside of the home. She’s been recruited by their employer while working as a bodyguard in Johannesburg and been placed under Hermione. As strangers in a strange land the two women had taken an immediate shine to one another and grown close. Sarah had been the first person Hermione told about her planned move to England. She’d been a little surprised when Sarah offered to come with her. “You’ll need protection from all the paparazzi,” she’d said.
She was Hermione’s height and had similarly curly hair, but where Hermione was cursed with the pale skin of a native Brit, Sarah had a warmer skin tone and darkened easily. Her wide mouth and full lips were always quick to pull into a smile, but her big, brown eyes were too shrewd to be as affable. She was currently decked out in enough layers that she looked as though she could barely bend her arms. They hung stiffly at her side beneath the big black wool overcoat and purple scarf and gloves she was wearing. Sarah hopped from said to side trying to stay warm.
Hermione locked her car and followed Sarah into the building. The door stuck and only opened when both women gave it a good yank. Inside there was only darkness and dust. Sarah pulled her scarf up over her nose and used her wand to illuminate the space. “The location’s shit, but the space is enormous, and off the beaten path.”
Hermione pulled out her own wand and set it to work opening the doors out onto the loading docks, “it’s also in a seedy part of town Sarah. Security’s going to be a nightmare.”
“Nah, few good charms and wards and we’ll be golden.”
“Yeah, single mom now, I can’t spend the next twelve hours putting up the charms we need.”
Sarah had created a small wind spell and was moving it about the room driving the dust towards the outside. “How are the kids doing,” she asked over her shoulder.
A rat lurched out of some refuse in a corner and made a break for the cold outside. Hermione caught it with her wand and gave it a boost sending it skittering across the polished cement floor and through the cloud of dust Sarah had created. “Angry. Quiet. Though they got in a fight the other day. It was actually a relief. They’d been so nice to each other. Helpful even.”
“That’s not natural.”
“That’s what John always said. He and his sister would fight like cats and dogs. She came over for Easter two years ago and it ended up with him sitting on top of her head.”
Sarah laughed and they both returned to their cleaning.
It was the first time she’d said his name in over a week. John. She’d found some of his things the night before while looking for a night shirt. It had been a sweatshirt of his and one of the only bits of clothing she’d kept. Everything else had been packed up and sent off to Goodwill in the first weeks. The shirt had been tucked between some of Hermione’s own workout clothes. It was threadbare and had been too big for even John, but it had been warm and soft.
She was surprised to find it didn’t really smell like him when she’d held it to her nose. It had smelled like the both of them and like clean sheets. In a fit of self indulgent widowhood she’d stripped off her own shirt and bra and pulled the sweatshirt on and the wallowed in her bed. She’d pulled the hood down till it nearly covered her whole face and she’d had a good cathartic cry.
And now, twelve hours later, John was on her mind. It was funny, at first there’d just been this oppressive sense of loss. Then she’d been so angry she’d nearly hurt a man. Depression. Tears. Shouting. Sleeping all hours. She’d done it all. Mourning had grown exhausting. She didn’t expect to see him around every corner anymore. Now she just missed having that person there to talk to at night. She missed the moments they’d shared, rather then the moments they never would.
When the cleaning was done Hermione set to exploring the warehouse while Sarah made the phone calls necessary to bring electricity and internet to the building. It was a huge open space with a set of offices on stilts near the loading docks by the river and a toilet hidden behind some cheap aluminum siding up near the doors to the street. Huge vents hovered over head ready to provide heat and lights sprang out of the places where the ventilation was not. Thick layers of dust were visible on top of the lights and vents. She’d need to get someone up there on a broom to deal with all of that.
There were no windows in the place either. Which was a problem. She wasn’t about to leave the doors all open for the comings and goings of owls. They’d need to build a little owlery to handle the traffic.
But overall the place was suitable for their purposes.
With things as clean as they could manage the women parted ways-each with a small list of things to do before they met again. Hermione was glad to have her old assistant in London. Sarah was thoroughly self-sufficient and competent. She’d rarely worked with someone she could as readily leave to their own devices.
“You know,” Sarah said, watching Hermione climb into her car, “there’s one thing I appreciate about England.”
“The rain? The muck?”
“It’s so small. I can apparate just about everywhere I need to be.”
Hermione eyed her young assistant, “Just don’t go apparating into the middle of Picadilly Circus alright? We don’t need the Ministry picking you up for violating secrecy statutes.”
Sarah lazily saluted her, “Aye aye captain. No apparating and no broom races up the Thames. I’ll be good.”
“And watch the rest of the crew?”
“You make it sound like they’re five Hermione.”
“That whole lot is American born and raised. They handle magic a bit differently here and I need them to be low key.”
Sarah smiled and said softly, “Don’t worry, I’ll keep them all out of trouble.”
Hermione opened her mouth to give another warning and then promptly closed it. She smiled sheepishly at her assistant. “I better be off before I turn into my mother.”
Sarah laughed and the two women parted ways.
#
Her father had told her that since she’d appropriated his car she could pick up her own child from school. So Hermione made the drive to the school and leaned against her car with an umbrella so she’d look like every other parent and nanny waiting for school to get out. The biting chill of the morning had given way to a hazy coolness that afternoon. The sky overhead was a gray and bright with light refracted off the fine mist that fell quietly to the ground. It wasn’t wet enough to be rain, but it wasn’t dry enough to be a simple fog.
Rivulets of water ran down the glass and metal exteriors of the car and over the bright umbrellas everyone held. Hermione regretted not wearing her boots that day for the mist had already soaked straight through the cloth ballet flats she wore. She looked forward to getting home and taking a hot shower and then sitting in front of the fire reading the large stack of journals that had built up over the last few months.
At last kids slowly started to trickle out of the building. They were all tightly wrapped up in coats and boots and their little rubber clad feet all squeaked noisily on the pavement as they ran out of the building. Hermione soon caught site of her son’s curly hair. Like her own, the humidity had had a disastrous effect on his head and the poor boy had a big poof of brown hair that frizzed out in all directions. She smiled affectionately when he caught sight of her and he ran up dragging a poor little red headed girl in tow.
“Mom! You came!” He actually sounded excited to see his mother.
She switched her umbrella to her left hand and reached out to give her son a one armed squeeze with her right. “I did come. Who’s your friend?”
He held up his and the girl’s clasped hands as proof of their friendship. “This is Lily. She’s a witch!”
If possible Hermione’s eyebrows would have shot straight past her forehead and disappeared somewhere in her hairline. She directed her attention to the young girl who stared at her with wide eyes. The girl then jerked Hugo’s arm, “I didn’t say I was a witch,” she said in a whisper too loud to really be called that.
“Yes you did,” he responded in the same attempt at whispering.
“That’s a secret.”
“My mom’s a witch. She doesn’t care.”
Hermione clasped her son’s shoulder tightly, “And that’s enough of that. Lily is someone here to pick you up?”
She nodded eagerly, “Yes ma’am. My dad’s here.”
She pointed across the parking lot to a soddened looking Harry Potter. Of course. Her son would naturally befriend Harry Potter’s youngest. That was the way the world operated. Not in chances but in absurd coincidences. She looked back down at the girl. “So you really are a witch then?”
Lily’s mouth dropped open in a confusion, “How,” she started.
Hermione waved over in Harry’s direction. “I went to school with your dad.”
Hugo craned his neck to catch a glimpse of the man they were taking about, when he saw Harry his face brightened, he turned back to Lily. “He ate at our house. That’s your dad?”
The girl was now very confused and let herself be dragged in her father’s direction by Hugo-who ran towards Harry with a wave and a smile. Hermione followed the two at a distance. Harry realized belatedly that he actually knew both of the children rushing towards him and stood up a little straighter.
“Well this is a surprise,” he said warmly. Hugo stopped short and smiled.
“Hello Harry. I didn’t know Lily was your daughter. We’re best friends.”
Lily rolled her eyes and snatched her hand back. “Dad this is Hugo.”
“I’ve met Hugo. How’re you doing?”
“Good. Can Lily stay over?”
“I-“
Harry then looked around and saw Hermione a few paces behind the children. They shared a moment and Hermione shook her head.
“I don’t think so,” Harry said, “you’ve both got school tomorrow. And Lily’s got to go to her mom’s game tonight.”
“Game?”
“My mom’s a Chaser for the Harpies.”
“Your mom plays Quidditch,” Hugo shouted. He had a tendency to get excited about Quidditch. He wasn’t nearly as good as his sister on a broom but he was a bigger fan of the sport and had collected player cards like most of his friends had collected baseball and game cards.
“My mom’s the best player on the team!”
Hermione saw the look on Harry’s face and tried to get out a word to stop him, but Harry was too fast, “You and your mom should come to the game.” His green eyes looked up over the frames of his glasses at her. “Tickets wouldn’t be a problem, you can bring Rose too.”
“Harry I…”
“Mom we have to go.”
“Yeah mom, you have to go,” Harry said, his voice was deeper but his tone was a perfect mimicry of Hugo’s.
Hermione desperately wanted to say no. She had journals to read by the fire, and a warehouse to whip into shape and more paperwork then should be permitted. And Rose would be heading to Hogwarts in only a few days and her parents would be awfully cross with her taking the kids out on a school night. It was a terrible plan.
And yet she still said yes.
Rating: R (eventually)
Status: In Progress
Author: maggiemerc
Characters/Pairing: Harry/Hermione
Disclaimer: Do not own them. The only profit I seek is an ego boost from good feedback.
Summary: Hermione's back in England after fifteen years abroad. Harry's hunting for a new dark wizard. Ron's anticipating the arrival of a baby. Ginny is looking for love in new and diverse places. It's a HP/HG tale with much love for those Weasely kids, because they're not bad people.
Author's Note: Sorry about the delay. I got caught up accidentally watching the entirety of The Good Wife. Oops!
Somehow Sarah had managed to choose a warehouse in one of the seediest districts in London. Hermione was in her father’s car and didn’t relish the idea of leaving it out on the street. The kids, clearly truant from school, made their way over the bridge and into the estate where they lived. The bridge was just over a tributary of the Thames and the water was a bit more still then the general river. The stagnant smell moved through the vents of the car and straight up Hermione’s nose.
She sneezed involuntarily and ducked down in her seat a bit. Another small group of kids came out of what looked to be a pub and headed onto the bridge. They pushed and jostled each other and laughed too loudly. So definitely a pub, and it was barely noon.
Hermione looked to the building her car was parked in front of. It was a warehouse that had seen better days, as had the area it was located in. The other warehouses it was nestled between all had a bit of activity. Pasty fellows with penchants for gruddy undershirts lolled about outside smoking and spitting. A boat was docked behind one of the warehouses and Hermione could just make out the men unloading stores from the cargo holds.
Her own warehouse, purchased by her erstwhile assistant, sat empty. Soon, if all went right, boats would be coming and going; exporting butterbeer and importing gillyweed and other difficult to come by items. She still had to arrange a meeting with George to see about handling the shipping for his products. Ron had mentioned his need of an honest exporter who could manage all the forms. Apparently they were really “doing his head in.” Hermione had only seen a few photos Sarah had owled over the night before, but she was already working out how she’d arrange things inside. Where the offices would go and where the portkeys would be installed. She was itching to get started on the project.
Only Sarah hadn’t arrived with the keys yet. Hermione could have just gone and opened the door with her wand, but she preferred staying in her warm car with her hot cup of coffee. She took a sip and winced. It was bitter with the taste of burned beans. She’d have to remember skipping that particular coffee shop in the future or add considerably more milk to her drink.
Then there was some tapping to take her mind of the coffee. Three times quickly and then a long steady series of taps. She turned to see Sarah leaning against her window tapping her finger and steaming the glass with her breath. Hermione took a big sip of her coffee and settled it in the coffee holder then opened the door.
“I was beginning to think you’d gone back to America,” she said as she got out of the car.
“I thought about it. Bloody cold here.” Sarah hugged herself to reinforce her statement, though it was hardly necessary.
“Miss it already?”
“South Africa I miss. Glad to be out of America actually. People kept thinking I was a mentally deficient Brit.” Sarah’s accent was extraordinarily strong. She’d grown up speaking Afrikaans and only spoke English outside of the home. She’s been recruited by their employer while working as a bodyguard in Johannesburg and been placed under Hermione. As strangers in a strange land the two women had taken an immediate shine to one another and grown close. Sarah had been the first person Hermione told about her planned move to England. She’d been a little surprised when Sarah offered to come with her. “You’ll need protection from all the paparazzi,” she’d said.
She was Hermione’s height and had similarly curly hair, but where Hermione was cursed with the pale skin of a native Brit, Sarah had a warmer skin tone and darkened easily. Her wide mouth and full lips were always quick to pull into a smile, but her big, brown eyes were too shrewd to be as affable. She was currently decked out in enough layers that she looked as though she could barely bend her arms. They hung stiffly at her side beneath the big black wool overcoat and purple scarf and gloves she was wearing. Sarah hopped from said to side trying to stay warm.
Hermione locked her car and followed Sarah into the building. The door stuck and only opened when both women gave it a good yank. Inside there was only darkness and dust. Sarah pulled her scarf up over her nose and used her wand to illuminate the space. “The location’s shit, but the space is enormous, and off the beaten path.”
Hermione pulled out her own wand and set it to work opening the doors out onto the loading docks, “it’s also in a seedy part of town Sarah. Security’s going to be a nightmare.”
“Nah, few good charms and wards and we’ll be golden.”
“Yeah, single mom now, I can’t spend the next twelve hours putting up the charms we need.”
Sarah had created a small wind spell and was moving it about the room driving the dust towards the outside. “How are the kids doing,” she asked over her shoulder.
A rat lurched out of some refuse in a corner and made a break for the cold outside. Hermione caught it with her wand and gave it a boost sending it skittering across the polished cement floor and through the cloud of dust Sarah had created. “Angry. Quiet. Though they got in a fight the other day. It was actually a relief. They’d been so nice to each other. Helpful even.”
“That’s not natural.”
“That’s what John always said. He and his sister would fight like cats and dogs. She came over for Easter two years ago and it ended up with him sitting on top of her head.”
Sarah laughed and they both returned to their cleaning.
It was the first time she’d said his name in over a week. John. She’d found some of his things the night before while looking for a night shirt. It had been a sweatshirt of his and one of the only bits of clothing she’d kept. Everything else had been packed up and sent off to Goodwill in the first weeks. The shirt had been tucked between some of Hermione’s own workout clothes. It was threadbare and had been too big for even John, but it had been warm and soft.
She was surprised to find it didn’t really smell like him when she’d held it to her nose. It had smelled like the both of them and like clean sheets. In a fit of self indulgent widowhood she’d stripped off her own shirt and bra and pulled the sweatshirt on and the wallowed in her bed. She’d pulled the hood down till it nearly covered her whole face and she’d had a good cathartic cry.
And now, twelve hours later, John was on her mind. It was funny, at first there’d just been this oppressive sense of loss. Then she’d been so angry she’d nearly hurt a man. Depression. Tears. Shouting. Sleeping all hours. She’d done it all. Mourning had grown exhausting. She didn’t expect to see him around every corner anymore. Now she just missed having that person there to talk to at night. She missed the moments they’d shared, rather then the moments they never would.
When the cleaning was done Hermione set to exploring the warehouse while Sarah made the phone calls necessary to bring electricity and internet to the building. It was a huge open space with a set of offices on stilts near the loading docks by the river and a toilet hidden behind some cheap aluminum siding up near the doors to the street. Huge vents hovered over head ready to provide heat and lights sprang out of the places where the ventilation was not. Thick layers of dust were visible on top of the lights and vents. She’d need to get someone up there on a broom to deal with all of that.
There were no windows in the place either. Which was a problem. She wasn’t about to leave the doors all open for the comings and goings of owls. They’d need to build a little owlery to handle the traffic.
But overall the place was suitable for their purposes.
With things as clean as they could manage the women parted ways-each with a small list of things to do before they met again. Hermione was glad to have her old assistant in London. Sarah was thoroughly self-sufficient and competent. She’d rarely worked with someone she could as readily leave to their own devices.
“You know,” Sarah said, watching Hermione climb into her car, “there’s one thing I appreciate about England.”
“The rain? The muck?”
“It’s so small. I can apparate just about everywhere I need to be.”
Hermione eyed her young assistant, “Just don’t go apparating into the middle of Picadilly Circus alright? We don’t need the Ministry picking you up for violating secrecy statutes.”
Sarah lazily saluted her, “Aye aye captain. No apparating and no broom races up the Thames. I’ll be good.”
“And watch the rest of the crew?”
“You make it sound like they’re five Hermione.”
“That whole lot is American born and raised. They handle magic a bit differently here and I need them to be low key.”
Sarah smiled and said softly, “Don’t worry, I’ll keep them all out of trouble.”
Hermione opened her mouth to give another warning and then promptly closed it. She smiled sheepishly at her assistant. “I better be off before I turn into my mother.”
Sarah laughed and the two women parted ways.
#
Her father had told her that since she’d appropriated his car she could pick up her own child from school. So Hermione made the drive to the school and leaned against her car with an umbrella so she’d look like every other parent and nanny waiting for school to get out. The biting chill of the morning had given way to a hazy coolness that afternoon. The sky overhead was a gray and bright with light refracted off the fine mist that fell quietly to the ground. It wasn’t wet enough to be rain, but it wasn’t dry enough to be a simple fog.
Rivulets of water ran down the glass and metal exteriors of the car and over the bright umbrellas everyone held. Hermione regretted not wearing her boots that day for the mist had already soaked straight through the cloth ballet flats she wore. She looked forward to getting home and taking a hot shower and then sitting in front of the fire reading the large stack of journals that had built up over the last few months.
At last kids slowly started to trickle out of the building. They were all tightly wrapped up in coats and boots and their little rubber clad feet all squeaked noisily on the pavement as they ran out of the building. Hermione soon caught site of her son’s curly hair. Like her own, the humidity had had a disastrous effect on his head and the poor boy had a big poof of brown hair that frizzed out in all directions. She smiled affectionately when he caught sight of her and he ran up dragging a poor little red headed girl in tow.
“Mom! You came!” He actually sounded excited to see his mother.
She switched her umbrella to her left hand and reached out to give her son a one armed squeeze with her right. “I did come. Who’s your friend?”
He held up his and the girl’s clasped hands as proof of their friendship. “This is Lily. She’s a witch!”
If possible Hermione’s eyebrows would have shot straight past her forehead and disappeared somewhere in her hairline. She directed her attention to the young girl who stared at her with wide eyes. The girl then jerked Hugo’s arm, “I didn’t say I was a witch,” she said in a whisper too loud to really be called that.
“Yes you did,” he responded in the same attempt at whispering.
“That’s a secret.”
“My mom’s a witch. She doesn’t care.”
Hermione clasped her son’s shoulder tightly, “And that’s enough of that. Lily is someone here to pick you up?”
She nodded eagerly, “Yes ma’am. My dad’s here.”
She pointed across the parking lot to a soddened looking Harry Potter. Of course. Her son would naturally befriend Harry Potter’s youngest. That was the way the world operated. Not in chances but in absurd coincidences. She looked back down at the girl. “So you really are a witch then?”
Lily’s mouth dropped open in a confusion, “How,” she started.
Hermione waved over in Harry’s direction. “I went to school with your dad.”
Hugo craned his neck to catch a glimpse of the man they were taking about, when he saw Harry his face brightened, he turned back to Lily. “He ate at our house. That’s your dad?”
The girl was now very confused and let herself be dragged in her father’s direction by Hugo-who ran towards Harry with a wave and a smile. Hermione followed the two at a distance. Harry realized belatedly that he actually knew both of the children rushing towards him and stood up a little straighter.
“Well this is a surprise,” he said warmly. Hugo stopped short and smiled.
“Hello Harry. I didn’t know Lily was your daughter. We’re best friends.”
Lily rolled her eyes and snatched her hand back. “Dad this is Hugo.”
“I’ve met Hugo. How’re you doing?”
“Good. Can Lily stay over?”
“I-“
Harry then looked around and saw Hermione a few paces behind the children. They shared a moment and Hermione shook her head.
“I don’t think so,” Harry said, “you’ve both got school tomorrow. And Lily’s got to go to her mom’s game tonight.”
“Game?”
“My mom’s a Chaser for the Harpies.”
“Your mom plays Quidditch,” Hugo shouted. He had a tendency to get excited about Quidditch. He wasn’t nearly as good as his sister on a broom but he was a bigger fan of the sport and had collected player cards like most of his friends had collected baseball and game cards.
“My mom’s the best player on the team!”
Hermione saw the look on Harry’s face and tried to get out a word to stop him, but Harry was too fast, “You and your mom should come to the game.” His green eyes looked up over the frames of his glasses at her. “Tickets wouldn’t be a problem, you can bring Rose too.”
“Harry I…”
“Mom we have to go.”
“Yeah mom, you have to go,” Harry said, his voice was deeper but his tone was a perfect mimicry of Hugo’s.
Hermione desperately wanted to say no. She had journals to read by the fire, and a warehouse to whip into shape and more paperwork then should be permitted. And Rose would be heading to Hogwarts in only a few days and her parents would be awfully cross with her taking the kids out on a school night. It was a terrible plan.
And yet she still said yes.