Chapter Text
I do not condone outdoor cats.
*
1938
At 11, Tom Riddle Junior knew exactly how intimidating his scowl was. It was a well crafted look, borne of practice and necessity. It had only taken a moment at Slytherin table after the sorting to see that he was looked down upon for his lack of wizarding name and shabby clothes. Shunned and looked at in contempt.
After the prefect’s speech in their common room about what was expected of them, an older student with wild hair and green eyes approached him. Tom lashed out at him and was immediately gratified by the other boy’s flinch. Pathetic.
Tom trudged on, refusing to let the other Slytherin students bring him down.
Second-year, when he’d carved out an inch of respect, he heard the name that graced his inner left wrist.
“Harry bloody Potter,” Abaraxas, an older student said, “and his whore mother.”
Tom had carefully inserted himself into the conversation.
He learned that Harry was a Potter bastard, that his muggle born mother had attempted line-theft. She was the reason Fleamont Potter was always so sick. Fleamont’s parents had him born early to make sure he was the firstborn and therefore the Potter heir.
Harry Potter was everything that the pureblooded Slytherins hated. He was bullied nearly everyday and forced to sleep elsewhere in the castle. The only reason he hadn’t been hounded out of Hogwarts, according to Abaraxas, was because he was the best Seeker Slytherin had ever seen.
If anyone found out that he was Tom’s soulmate, what little headway he’d made would be destroyed and unrecoverable. So, Tom ignored his soulmate and was better off for it.
(The name on Tom’s wrist turned red then smeared. He refused to feel bad about it.)
*
1943
Tom could fight his own battles. He was seething as his Slytherins did their best not to snicker. Damn Potter. This was Tom’s problem, but here Potter was shouting, threatening, Dumbledore to let Tom stay at Hogwarts over the summer.
Then wands were pulled and a greasy feeling snaked through Tom’s chest.
But then he was numb, watching spells clash, other professors trying to step in, but being stunned. It was beautiful. It was merciless. And when it was over, Harry was the victor.
New hate swelled. Dumbledore was Tom’s enemy. He was his to destroy.
Acid fell from Tom’s lips. He couldn’t remember exactly what he said, but Potter’s already short form seemed to shrink, all color leaving his features. Dumbledore, with blood on his lips, said something. Tom didn’t care. All he had was hatred and (word for reaching new heights).
Potter fled like a coward. The Aurors arrived, but Dumbledore waved them off.
When Tom returned to Wool’s Orphanage, protection wards the likes of he’d never seen encased the old building. Tom didn’t feel regret.
*
1944
Grindelwald was defeated. No one knew who did it or how. It was a mystery, but the wizarding world was thankful.
*
1971
Severus Snape could easily pick out the worst day of his life: his first day of Hogwarts. In less than 12 hours he’d lost his best friend, Lily Evans, to her soulmate, and then when he was sorted into Slytherin his soulmate rejected him. He’d clung to the name on his left wrist, Lucius Malfoy, before it had turned into a black smudge that looked like he’d been hit by a crowbar in the same spot repeatedly.
Rejected because he was a man. Because he was poor and a half-blood.
After he came out of shock, he raged, destroying everything in his wake before being suspended for a week and being shipped home. The other students thought he was mad. Lily was too caught up with James Potter to even realize something was wrong with Severus despite it being obvious.
But then the faint outline of a name below the cursed smudge started taking shape. His mother, with an odd bout of motherly comfort, reminded him that someone who was rejected got a new soulmate, but the one who did the rejecting never would. It was a cold comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.
Severus spent hours tracing the faint lines, speculating on how they connected, how they might be the very thing that saved his life.
Before the winter holiday, like a joke, the last name of his biggest bully appeared.
Lily had been so excited. Before he could stop her, she dragged him to James and forcefully yanked up Severus’ sleeve to show him.
James happily reported that the only Harry Potter he’d heard of was some bastard that tried to kill his father. He teased that Potter was probably in his 40s and a cradle robber. Lily had chastised James, but was soon taken in by one of his other jokes.
Severus didn’t let them see him cry.
Then, on Christmas day in Hogwarts a snowy owl swooped down with a gilded letter just for Severus.
Severus Snape,
Your name appeared on my wrist yesterday. It has been years since my first soulmate rejected me and I had lost hope.
As for who I am, I am a baker who lives in Paris. My favorite pastime is Quidditch and the occasional friendly duel. I travel often and I have a garden that someone could get lost in.
I am older than you, so I don’t think it would be appropriate for us to meet face to face until you reach the age of majority. I’ll be happy to answer any of your questions. If you decide you do not wish to correspond with me until you are older or at all, I understand and will respect your decision.
With High Hopes,
Harry Potter
It could be a joke. Salazar knew that James was capable of sinking that low. But hope was a hard habit to kick. Severus wrote back and thus began a correspondence. When all else failed him, he knew Harry wouldn’t.
Harry regaled him with tales of his travels, gave hints to help Severus in his studies, and, on one notable birthday, sent him an ancient potion text that opened his mind. He encouraged Severus to experiment, both with potions and dating other people. Severus was thrilled by the former, but felt awkward with the latter. He tried though, but it wasn’t like there were many people who were interested in him.
On the day of his graduation he felt breathless during the whole train ride to London. And then there was Harry, as nervous as him and asking him on a date. ()
*
1996
“It’s not balanced. You’re going to blow up the place,” Harry said, his finger writing in the flour on the large counter. Severus held back a smirk. “I’d rather you not scar your pretty face.”
Despite himself, Severus blushed. He crossed out Harry’s addition to the arithmancy equation they were working on. “Ma petite mort, what you failed to realize was that the potency of the American fluxweed is lower than our native variant.”
“Oh, I see how it is.” Harry turned so he was facing Severus head on, his hip planted against the counter. “You keep the important facts to yourself until you can use them against me.”
Severus scoffed. "Your inability to keep up with modern herbology is no fault of mine, old man."
Harry looked skyward. “He makes fun of my age as if he wasn’t my willing sugar baby,” he said to no one in particular.
Despite himself, Severus blushed. “You would have helped me with getting my mastery even if we weren’t sleeping together.” How was it possible that could Harry still fluster him?
“Whatever you need to tell yourself, sweet cheeks.” Harry’s grin was mischievous.
Severus took a step back from his husband with narrow eyes. He knew that look—knew that if he wasn’t careful Harry would paw at him, covering Severus’ pristine black robes with flour.
Harry moved closer to him, (). “Why are you running, Severus?” Harry made grabby hands. Severus cursed internally, only now sensing that the door behind him had been warded shut. “I need to knead your buns!"
"You two are the worst," Hermione Granger said while carrying a massive bag of sugar into the room from the opposite direction.
Crisis averted.
Severus grinned in triumph. Harry rolled his eyes.
Severus turned his attention back to Hermione. Her constant state of exasperation at Harry’s shenanigans reassured him that he wasn’t going mad. The foster muggleborn always had something to say and she was competent in her studies, thankfully. Harry was a great teacher, but was terrible at potions. That was when Severus stepped in.
He didn't care for the whole homeschooling of muggleborns (a contradiction in its very name), but Harry was dedicated to it.
Muggleborns weren't allowed to attend Hogwarts. The law had been put in place shortly after Severus graduated. But back then it didn't pertain to him and he was more than happy to never think of Hogwarts again.
Being married to someone with the license to foster and educate muggleborns made it his business, though.
And the sixteen year old girl was helpful when it came to the other foster muggleborns, the Creevey brothers. Those miscreants would run all over Diagon Alley the second Harry’s back was turned if not for Hermione and Severus.
Since he and Harry had moved back to Britain and set up a bakery in Tote Alley Harry had taken an active role in their society. Their bakery and Severus’ potion brewing business could support the three children, but it was Harry’s accumulated wealth that made it so that they never had to cut back. And Hermione worked at the bakery since she turned thirteen, but once the school year began she was going to start forging her path into the Ministry. She’d already completed her OWLs and NEWTs, after all.
And when the time was right, she’d take the Ministry by storm and make them question everything they thought they knew about muggleborns.
(...)
*
1996
As the years cracked on and Voldemort was securely in power, regrets clawed at his mind. He ruled wizarding Britain, no one dared challenge him, and his Death Eaters did his bidding—yet he was bored. There was only room enough for one at the top.
True, Bellatrix would happily accompany him without questioning his rule—she’d even given him a child, but she would be poor company.
She was as interesting as a flobberworm.
Unbiddenly, Voldemort found himself thinking of Harry Potter, his once soulmate that had disappeared long ago.
He still remembered the last time he’d seen him. A petite thing that fearlessly stood against Dumbledore, for Tom. He’d been a fool, throwing himself at him like a desperate whore.
Harry’s bright green eyes, his mop of black hair—wild and so unlike Tom’s well groomed appearance. Those oversized sweaters he wore on the weekends. Flitting through the air effortlessly during Quidditch.
That hopeful smile that Tom had crushed so effortlessly.
He did not allow himself to humor such thoughts, though.
And yet...
“Pretty Potter pastries,” Bellatrix sang. Voldemort’s eyes unbiddingly went to her. She was unwrapping a cupcake, a dot of frosting on her nose, and had a paper bag hanging from her arm.
Sloppy handwriting was on the side of the bag.
Deep breaths, Bell! Remember, you’re your own worst enemy when you get worked up.
-Harry
And Voldemort recognized that handwriting—Recognized that that slightly tilted H and R’s that could easily be mistaken for V’s. It had graced his wrist for years long ago, yet so familiar.
With a wordless flick of his wand, Bellatrix jerked bodily, slamming into his chest. Voldemort yanked her head back by her wild hair, delving into her mind.
An oversized sweater looking ridiculous paired with a tight apron. Round glasses hiding green eyes. Hair that stuck in all directions, defying gravity and common sense. That smile—
Voldemort pulled out of Bellatrix’ mind and hissed in rage. All he could see was red. Destructive spells flowed from his wand like blood from a cut throat. ()
It could have been minutes. It could have been hours.
When Voldemort returned to himself his manor was in ruins. His fury had spared nothing, but Bellatrix was absent. He didn’t care if he had ended her.
He sucked in a deep breath from between his clenched teeth. After conjuring a chair he contemplated what he saw.
It couldn’t be him. It must be his son or grandson, but that scar—that lightning bolt on his forehead that was from an attack in the Slytherin common room during Voldemort’s third year. It was unmistakable.
But this… pretender looked to be in his mid-twenties. There was not a single grey hair on his head and—
Voldemort sighed in frustration.
It required investigation. Not because of the possibility of their past connection, but to see if he’d obtained some form of immortality.
Yes, this was strictly business ()
*
Eris the Heiress, or at least that’s what the other Slytherins called her behind her back. It had bothered Eris Lestrange at first, when her classmates slowly realized who her real father was. It was only really known in Slytherin, but there were murmurs in the other houses. Most avoided her, others tried to ingratiate themselves, and the rest were blissfully() unaware.
With her hair wild and curly like her mother’s, she was nearly identical to Bellatrix when she was fifteen. The only thing visibly that marked her as the Dark Lord’s daughter was her red eyes, which were hidden by a charm on her horn-rimmed glasses.
Eris could do subtle. Her cousin Draco couldn’t. Sadly, he was accompanying her. Thankfully she knew how to muzzle him. Theodore Nott was good at pointing out when Draco was being a prat and sly enough to do so without gaining his ire.
She trusted him to keep Draco in line as they entered somewhere that they were definitely not supposed to be. A place that only stood out from the rest of the shops because its name had fallen from Uncle Barty’s frenetic lips. He hadn’t been clear, never really was when he and Bellatrix whispered to each other. But Eris was well versed in Bellatrix-Speak and could read the tension in her father’s shoulders.
This Potter man was important, whether for better or worse, Eris didn’t know.
Eris knew that there were two Potters at Hogwarts, Lionel and a sister she didn’t know the name of. They were both Gryffindors. Lionel was in her year, but she didn’t really know him. The sister was three years behind and Eris only really knew of her because she was on the Gryffindor Quidditch team.
Eris and her followers took a seat as Regulus, her escort, went to the front to order pastries and tea. She liked him. He didn’t worship the ground she walked on like Barty did or had ridiculous expectations like Headmaster Pyrite.
It was too bad Regulus’ son, (), was two years behind her at Hogwarts. He had the same type of aura, calm like a pond, but with untold depths.
Being able to read auras was a blood gift Eris had. Though trying to maintain reading auras gave her a headache and she had to be sitting while doing so or risk fainting. She couldn’t remember how her father reacted when he realized she wasn’t a parselmouth, but at least she had something to show for her superb pedigree.
Regulus returned and when he sat down their treats and tea appeared on the table. They were quiet for a few minutes, munching on their delicious treats.
She spotted the baker nearly dancing to the front display to drop off more baked goods.
He was too young to be their father, maybe cousin. He had the same untamable hair as Lional Potter, but all else was unrecognizable.
He disappeared to the back again all too soon. After finishing her scone with clotted cream then washing it down, she put on airs that her friends were familiar with.
Draco took on a familiar sneer. Theo ducked down to hide his eyes. Regulus sighed, but went to stand.
"I want to see the baker," Eris demanded.
Regulus gave a shallow nod and went to the counter, cutting in line. No one would say anything considering the tattoo on his left forearm.
He was quiet, and spoke softly. Still, Eris could see the building horror on the employee's face. They skittered to the back of the store.
Eris gave a self-satisfied look to the others. Draco mirrored it.
“You let him have it,” Eris said to Draco. She would do a reading while he kept Potter busy.
He came out from the back and the first thing she noticed when he got closer was how short he was. He also had an annoyed look on his face, as if they weren’t the ones inconvenienced. ()
Draco started in on one of his world famous tantrums.
Eris focused her sight—Then everything was shrouded in darkness. Pressure squeezed the air out of her lungs and the thoughts from her mind. There was a swooping feeling in her chest and she knew this was death.
*
Bellatrix clutched the unconscious girl that was a manifestation () of her devotion to the Dark Lord. Eris had overstepped and paid for it. The girl was inquisitive, but she had interfered in the Dark Lord’s business. Bellatrix was ashamed that she hadn’t raised a smarter child. It was a failure that risked tarnishing her Dark Lord.
Still, Bellatrix was very curious. The girl had reacted strangely to Potter’s aura. Of course, anyone that was even briefly bound to her Lord had to be extraordinary. Whatever he was doubtlessly ().
If only the girl would wake up and tell her secrets. Even envierate () wasn’t working.
Still, a part of Bellatrix was fearful. Her Lord was without equal, but Potter, with a humble job and shrouded past, could disrupt everything. And what if he took her place as Lord Voldemort’s favorite follower?
It was enough for her to be murderous (which wasn’t that difficult to do in to begin with). ()
Her Lord had already been made aware of their daughter’s transgression. Bellatrix was to present her when she woke up. Hopefully this whole matter would not reflect poorly on Bellatrix.
*
Lord Voldemort had a picture in hand and a woefully short parchment on his desk.
He couldn’t take his red eyes off the fluttering creature that haunted him. While Voldemort rose up in the world after Hogwarts, something had started to fester in him. The red blemish on his left wrist sunk in deeper, clawing at his fractured soul.
He refused to contemplate that matter, instead focusing on the picture again. It had been taken in (C market). Harry—Potter, had a basket in hand as he looked at a display of peaches. He had a look of concentration, his eyebrows furrowed.
But behind him, like an ugly shadow was Severus Snape. Intellectually, Voldemort knew that the rejected soulmate was given a new soulmate, but Potter was his. Voldemort may have tossed him aside, but he wasn’t to be taken by someone else.
This, Severus Snape, Voldemort had ordered his followers to dig up information on him. It was then that he learned he had once been Lucius’ soulmate—That Lucius could have diverted this—this—whatever this was.
Voldemort had made his displeasure known.
The other information he’d gotten on the (presumptuous) creature was that he had loose ties to the main Potter family, that Harry had funded his way through getting his Potions Mastery, and he had various patents and accolades.
He was unworthy of anything even vaguely related to Voldemort.
Oh, and they were married. It made Voldemort hiss with an emotion he refused to name.
The mystery of why Potter still looked so young was still unanswered. His past was almost as shrouded as Voldemort’s. He’d appeared from the ether in Germany in the early 60s, took all his exams there before hopping around the continent from one magical settlement to another. He settled down in Paris with enough money to open a bakery in magical France’s high street. The bakery received many positive reviews (). The year before Snape graduated Potter moved to London, setting up a new bakery.
Voldemort would have to do something about this. His course of action was clear.
*
Lucius’ muscles were still twitching from the round of crucios he’d been put under nearly a week ago.
He should have killed off that half-blood Snape when he dared bear Lucius’ name on his wrist. He had no doubt that somehow Snape had engineered this mess as revenge.
Lucius refused to feel bad for what he was about to do. His only chance of redemption lay in his actions today.
It wasn’t so hard to get Snape out of his hole behind the bakery. He was greedy for money like all those that sprung from dirt.
Using a different name, Lucius had set up a meeting to discuss the specifics of an altered potion he said he was interested in buying.
Snape had grown uglier and his yellow, crooked teeth showed as he sneered. Yet, he looked young. Like he was still in his 20s instead of approaching 40. Strange. Not that it did anything to improve his looks. ()
Before Snape could speak, Lucius was casting, “Avada Kedavra.” The green light reflected in Snape’s eyes as it raced towards him. It touched his sallow skin, but didn’t sink in. Then the green light was racing back towards Lucius.
His bitter soul was knocked out of his body.
*
Augustus Rookwood looked over Lucius’ corpse. Just like all of those that were subject to the killing curse, there was no evidence it had been used beyond Lucius being dead.
Augustus had watched Lucius’ last memory repeatedly. It was a ritual he’d helped develop as an Unspeakable.
What he saw didn’t make sense. No one had ever survived the killing curse, yet alone have it reflect off them. Lucius was capable of casting it effectively. Every Death Eater had used the curse before. It was a right of passage.
Yet, Snape looked just as surprised when the curse reflected.
He was not looking forward to giving the news to Lord Voldemort. He’d probably just manipulate Bellatrix into doing it. Her lips were loose when in the presence of their Lord.
*
Voldemort held no value in the concept of family. The outcome of Eris had merely been a reward to Bellatrix and Rudophus. They were his most devoted followers, along with Barty.
He’d thought of killing Eris when she didn’t have the gift of parseltongue, but had been merciful when she proved she had a different talent.
His summons was quickly answered. Eris walked into his study followed by Bellatrix who was scowling at Eris.
Bellatrix immediately went to her knees. Eris looked annoyed, but properly cowed before joining Bellatrix in kneeling. Perhaps he’d given Eris too much freedom. She would learn her place one way or another. After all, Voldemort had no need for an heir.
Yet, he saw no need to punish her himself. Bellatrix would do the job and actually instill a lesson into Eris’ mind. Voldemort had better things to do than play with children.
He gestured for Bellatrix to rise and speak. She did her best to curb her annoying, ever present energy that had her constantly in motion, but Voldemort could sense it. “My Lord, the girl went to Hearth Bakery and read your Potter. She refuses to tell me what she’s seen.”
Voldemort turned his red eyes to Eris. Her fists were clenched and eyes steadily on the ground. They appeared grey, like Bellatrix’, but behind those glasses they were the same color as his. She was too weak to fully show her link to him, though. Perhaps one day, if she proved herself, he’d allow her to leave the glasses behind. As for now, she was a disappointment, just a tool. Albeit an unrefined one.
“Why were you at the bakery?” he asked, anger simmering beneath his skin. He doubted she just wandered in.
Eris stood up, brushing the imaginary dirt from her robe, stalling. She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I overheard Mother and Uncle Barty talking about it. They mentioned Potter.” To her left, Bellatrix clamped her own mouth shut with her fingers, looking like she was just about to tear out her own tongue for being so careless. If he knew she was limited when it came to non-verbal spells, he might just let her. She and Barty had been careless.
Voldemort let the silence linger. Eris shifted on her feet. He did not speak. Sweat broke out on her forehead.
“I’m sorry, father,” she croaked out. “I was foolish and overstepped and—”
“Enough,” he half hissed at her. She cringed. “What did you see in his aura?”
Somehow, she grew paler. “It was darkness. There was no end to it, just darkness.” Her eyes were glinting with tears.
“Crucio.”
Her screams pierced the room as she fell to the ground, thrashing. Without breaking the spell he looked at Bellatrix and nodded. She joined in on using the torturing spell on their daughter.
Less than a minute later Voldemort lifted it.
She was twitching on the ground. Her glasses had fallen off, revealing red eyes. Red irises () and red from crying. She took in deep gulps () of air. Voldemort stunned her then summoned her towards him. He plunged into her mind—
And that which he feared for so long was now known to him, death, and the end. ()
*
Laying his head on Harry’s lap, he swatted at Harry’s hand, which had ceaselessly been running through Severus’ long hair. ()He hated that. He always worried he’d make Harry’s hand greasy, despite knowing his hair only looked that way.
He hadn’t been crying, but an old pain had found its way into his chest. The soulmate that had rejected him had tried to finish the job.
“Malfoy’s son was one of the kids I banned from the store the other day,” Harry offered.
“Lucius went after me, not you.” Severus licked his thin lips. “There’s more going on here. He’s a well known Death Eater. He can get away with anything, but I don’t understand why he’d do this now.” It grated on Severus’ mind, and the worry of what might happen if Severus’ involvement in his death came to light, that it could spell all sorts of trouble for Harry and him.
Severus had been selfish for not wanting to leave wizarding Britain. He felt comfortable in his native lands, even if it was ruled by a dictator. None of those laws had ever affected him.
Maybe it would be better if—But then the fireplace flared green, Harry slipped out from beneath him and had his wand up, ready to fight. It took a moment for Severus to gain his bearings again, still laid out on the couch when he heard Harry, “Of course you can come through.”
Severus righted himself as Lily Potter nee Evans and then her youngest sprog stepped out of the floo.
Like two little old biddies, Lily and Harry started clucking about this and that.
Severus scowled at the child. He had no ability to judge the age of children. “Aren’t you old enough to go in the alley by yourself?” In the alley and out of his house. In the boy’s petulant look () he could see James Potter under that mop of red hair.
“You don’t look as old as mom,” he said.
“Being around James Potter can age anyone prematurely,” Severus answered and easily stepped out of range of Lily’s swat. She had great reflexes, but Severus had grown up around her and knew her moves. ()
“Zag is going to Hogwarts this September,” Lily announced happily, but she was still glaring at him. “And James and I are thinking of taking in a muggleborn like you two do.”
Severus gave her a flat look. “That’s a terrible idea.” He reconsidered for a moment. “On second thought, it would be better than you popping out another Potter brat.”
“Dad said you wanted to date my mom,” ‘adorable’ little Zag said.
“I wouldn’t plow your—”
“Severus!” Lily screeched, sounding miraculously like a banshee.
Harry snickered, just as bad as Severus, but with a smile instead of a scowl.
Severus decided to leave the racket they were creating. Besides, he always thought clearer while brewing.
*
It was Barty Jr’s idea, which perhaps should have been a red flag. Still, the cat was not fussing in its cage. It was a frumpy thing, black fur, and a frayed collar. The pendant on the collar named him Morty and on the other side the address matched where Harry lived.
It was Harry’s cat. It had been lounging around in front of Hearth Bakery, the sun warming its black fur. Barty had snatched it up and cast plenty of spells on it so that it couldn’t be tracked.
The plan was to wait a week before putting out an ad in the paper saying the cat was found with no collar, wait for Harry to floo call, and then ask him to come over since the cat liked to hide. From there they’d get to the bottom of the mystery of who he was.
The Dark Lord had approved of the plan after all the other abduction ideas Barty and Bellatrix had suggested.
They left Morty in a warded room where a house elf would tend to it.
The only problem was the damn cat kept getting out somehow. Barty and Bellatrix were in a constant state of running after the cat and fixing the destruction in its wake. What made it worse was that they had housed it in Eternal Manor, Lord Voldemort’s personal residence. Priceless artifacts were being bumped with Bellatrix and Barty only having a split second before invoking their Lord’s wrath with their incompetence. (...)
Morty seemed quite adept () at dodging spells and thwarting traps.
Of all the challenges they faced during their Lord’s rise to power, this somehow was the hardest.
*
Ron Weasley was meandering through Diagon with Lavender Brown. They were dating, but not soulmates. He was well aware though that they’d most likely break-up any day now. Lavender was almost 17, and when she reached her age of majority she’d be able to submit a form with the Ministry for them to find the owner of the name that graced her wrist, her soulmate.
Yet Ron’s 17th birthday had come and gone. He’d long ago saved up the money for the processing fee and gone through all the paperwork—But they hadn’t been able to find Hermione Granger’s information. Or, more specifically, her information was sealed. That meant one of two things, she was either imprisoned in Azkaban or had gone through the bureaucracy to have her file inaccessible until she decided otherwise.
With Percy’s (reluctant) help, he’d gotten access to Azkaban’s inmate list and she wasn’t on it. His mum had scoured the Daily Prophet each issue that came out and was steadily working backwards for any mention of his Hermione.
His dad asked after her with people he met almost as much as he () muggle things. Fred and George, who were platonic soulmates, had a spell on their running order list to alert them if a Hermione or a Granger bought something.
All around it made Ron feel rotten. His soulmate didn’t want him.
“I can’t go in there!” Ron said, his voice almost breaking, when he realized where Lavender was steering him to.
“It’s just a bakery, and it has the best scones.”
“Lavender, it’s a matter of loyalty! Lionel’s uncle owns it! His father, er, grandfather tried to commit line-theft of the Potter name!” Lionel was his best mate and he wouldn’t betray him.
“But Won-won.” Her blue eyes seemed to glitter. He was completely defenseless when she gave him that look.
“Alright, but we’re in and out.” He also didn’t want to spend too much. His summer job as an ingredient prepper at Slug and Jigger didn’t pay much—but it was loads better than those summer programs the Ministry offered, the ones they only offered to pureblood snobs like Malfoy.
He kept his grumbling to himself as they entered Hearth Bakery. It smelled heavenly, but that didn’t put off Ron’s petulance. () The food behind the glass did look heavenly—And Ron was a complete push-over when it came to good food. (Though he didn’t really appreciate the cooking lessons his whole family had splurged for him for his last birthday.)
When Ron was rich, he’d get a house elf that did nothing but cook yummy things for him.
“What can I get you?” a witch said, pulling his eyes from the food on display.
“A chamomile tea and blueberry scone, please,” Lavender said, but Ron didn’t register her words. Instead, he was focused on the nametag of the girl—woman in front of him.
Hermione G.
“Are you,” his voice sounded hoarse and he cleared it. “Are you Hermione Granger?”
The brown eyed, bushy haired girl slapped a hand over her sleeve covered wrist where his name surely was.
Lavender squealed in delight, being one of the few people who knew the name he bore. “This is just wonderful,” Lavender gushed! “I’m so happy for you, Ron!” A few of the other store-goers made cheerful comments and congratulations, picking up on what was happening.
“Collin, I’m going to need you to take over for me,” Hermione called out towards the back. A short teenager appeared from the push door in an apron that had flakes of pastry and smears of what might be strawberry jam on it.
“What’s up? I still need to frost the next batch of sugar biscuits.”
Hermione gave no response to her coworker, instead going around the counter. She grabbed Ron by the arm and dragged him outside and behind the shop.
“Let me see your wrist,” she ordered and Ron suddenly realized that he didn’t mind being bossed around a little bit.
Ron took the leather cuff off his wrist, those comforting letters seeing the light of day again.
Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose and Ron was reminded that she’d chosen to hide herself from him—had rejected him before they even met.
“Right, Ronald Weasley, it is nice to meet you.” Yet her tone said quite the opposite.
“You don’t want me,” he croaked, hating himself for sounding so weak.
Hermione sighed. “It’s not that. I’m a muggleborn. No one at the Ministry is going to take me seriously, but if they know I’m connected to one of the “Sacred 28” then they’ll just chalk up any achievements I make as being yours, because of you. () I refuse to let romance dictate my life and be defined by having someone’s name attached to my own.
“So… you don’t want me.” Everything was just spiraling downwards.
Hermione gave him a look he couldn’t read. “I’m not rejecting you. My adopted family, the Potters, even offered me to take their name, but I refused it. The wizarding world is prejudiced against muggleborns. I was just lucky that the Potters took me in or I wouldn’t even be allowed to own a wand. Change is needed, and that’s more important, bigger, than you or me.”
“But…” Ron couldn’t find anything to say.
“Look, we can write to each other and what not, but I don’t think we should meet up. I need to focus, and I can’t do that with you around.” She nodded to herself before firmly nodding. “I need to get back to work. Goodbye.”
And then she left and Ron was left in an alley with his dreams washing down a drain.
*
Harry wasn’t an air-head, despite what his hubby might think. Yes, he tended to wear blinders, solely focusing on what was in front of him, but that didn’t mean he didn’t see the bigger picture! So when Dennis brought him the Daily Prophet (which Dennis really shouldn’t read since it was state-runned propaganda) and he saw a picture of Morty in the (), he knew something was up.
He didn’t bring it to Severus, knowing he wanted no part of that side of Harry’s life. To be honest, even Harry didn’t want to acknowledge that side of his life. Morty was a compromise for all those involved.
Harry handed the paper back to Dennis before telling him not to worry about it. Dennis, the little soft-heart he was, looked genuinely worried. “That’s not Morty. I saw him just yesterday sleeping on Ms. Gorchavo’s roof.” ()
“Okay…” Harry patted Dennis on the head, making his floppy hair bounce. He needed a haircut. Harry would get them all lined up tonight, and strong arm Severus too, and cut their hair himself. Although he might have heard Hermione say something about not being a little kid anymore…
Harry sent Dennis on his way then happily went back to baking.
*
Incompetence! Voldemort was surrounded by it! How could they lose one measly cat?
Still, Voldemort was hesitant. What he’d seen in Eris’ mind had disquieted him. In her pathetic head he’d found his one fear: Death.
Steals Harry’s cat as a bargaining chip
The picture restarted and Voldemort saw Potter’s wand—Dumbledore’s former wand. ?
Harry MOD
Tom tried to butt in, but H isn’t letting him and S is v insecure. Tom tries to bribe, intimidate, etc. H stress baking.