Chapter Text
Harry Potter was sitting in her office.
If Astoria was prone to fits of giggles, she might have just had a fit, based on that thought alone.
The disparity between the bright pink and green wallpaper and Harry Potter’s Very Serious and stark navy Auror robes was almost a joke. Harry’s face was drawn into some kind of grimace, which Astoria knew couldn’t be from the tea because she had given it to him exactly how he liked it.
She knew that because she had every client write it down on the questionnaire packet they had to fill out to receive services.
Astoria picked up her tin of breakfast goodies that her assistant Clary left on her desk every Monday morning. Usually at nine o’clock, and not six-fifteen in the morning. But this morning they’d come into the office under special circumstances.
“Would you care for a lemon biscuit, Mr Potter?” Astoria offered politely.
The man in question waved it off before running a hand through his hair. “No, I’m alright. Thank you.”
Astoria brought the tin of biscuits back down. She wasn’t hungry this early in the morning either. “Let’s get to it, then. We-“
Harry stood abruptly, his chair soundlessly scraping back on the plush carpeted floors. “-I’m sorry, Greengrass, but this isn’t working.”
Astoria arched an eyebrow. “Clearly, seeing as you’ve fired three of my best nannies from your employ.”
He rubbed a hand over the barely-there beard on his jaw. Astoria had never been one for facial hair, but she had to admit it suited Harry Potter’s strong features. Beards had never been popular in Pureblood fashions because most families associated them with barbarian notions. But Harry Potter was only intimidating, not barbaric. She could see a thin, silver scar that ran near his chin underneath his beard. His scars only made him more interesting, although his infamous lightning scar was the thing she was drawn to least.
She forced herself away from studying his face to marking his steps as he paced the width of her office.
“And for vague reasons,” Astoria added, when Harry didn’t respond.
Harry stopped pacing and put his hands on his hips. It only accentuated the narrowness of his waist and the broadness of his shoulders.
“The truth is…every nanny that’s come to my house in the last two months has tried to…” Harry’s voice trailed off and he looked at her, raising his eyebrows. He twirled his hand in front of him, as if he was flourishing his wand. Astoria stared at him in confusion. “You know.”
Astoria raised her eyebrows. “Do their jobs?”
“No, Greengrass,” Harry said and then rubbed his beard. “They’ve tried to have sex with me.”
“Oh.” To Astoria’s mortification, her cheeks began to turn pink. The curse of a Greengrass pale complexion. “Oh, my. Well. I had no…no idea.”
Her vocabulary had left her, apparently. All of her mother’s etiquette and elocution lessons gone at the mere mention of sex from Harry Potter’s mouth.
“Look, it started with Taren. She was great and my kids liked her. But she kept Owling me outside of work things and then she was sending photographs. Nude photographs.” He began to pace again. “I can’t explain enough how my kids do not need to see those kinds of pictures, Greengrass.”
“Of course not,” Astoria sputtered. “But why are you only telling me now?”
“The final straw,” Harry went on, ignoring her question, “was when I got home from a late shift, three days ago, and Stella Hartmore was in my bed. Once again, naked.”
“Merlin,” said Astoria. She frankly felt flabbergasted. This had never happened before. “I’m so sorry, Mr Potter. I don’t even know what to say. All of our employees undergo an extreme vetting process, due to the high clearance nature of some of our clients. This is unthinkable and I don’t know what to say except-“
“-Trouble usually finds me, Greengrass.” Harry waved off her apology. “But I usually like to leave my family out of it.”
He stopped pacing and tilted his head at her. Astoria swallowed and locked her fingers closer together on the desk. HEAD AUROR glinted on a badge across his chest. Astoria wondered if staring at people with brilliant green eyes was an interrogation tactic one learned in Auror school.
“Well, there’s only one solution I can think of, Mr Potter.” Astoria unclasped her hands and laid them flat on her wooden desk. She hoped she looked unruffled as McGonagall when a first year was being disruptive in Transfiguration.
Harry nodded. “I agree, of course. It’s become obvious that I can’t trust anyone with the care of my children outside of my family. I’ll have to send them to their grandparents, which would be a counterproductive to the last two months when I hired help so they could stay home with me-“
“-No.”
They both stared as Astoria’s word spread around the room.
Harry, probably because no one ever told him no. Astoria, because she had just told Harry Potter no.
Astoria cleared her throat and said, “No, you hired us to do a job. One that I take very seriously. No, Mr Potter, the only solution I can think of, is that I will be your nanny.”
Harry’s hands went back to his hips as he stared at her. It was definitely an interrogation tactic, Astoria thought. Her lips thinned at the doubt on his face.
“I was under the impression that you never took clients yourself.”
“It’s true that I haven’t in recent years.” Astoria nodded. “But I started this company myself and I was the only employee for three years, until I became high profile enough to start taking on bigger clients and hiring on more staff.”
“Maybe you should’ve considered expanding your vetting protocol,” Harry suggested, although it sounded more like a criticism.
Astoria’s eye twitched but she pasted on a smile instead of the glare she felt like giving him. Because he was right, of course. How had three of her employees tried to seduce Harry Potter? Suddenly, Taren, Gwyn, and Stella’s quick resignations all made so much more sense. They had left before Astoria could dismiss them, before she could possibly know why Harry Potter had asked for replacements.
She had been shocked that Harry Potter had been looking for a nanny in the first place, but Draco had sent him her way after speaking with Hermione Granger about it. Apparently, the divorce wasn’t exactly as friendly as the media portrayed and Harry Potter had been left to raise his children mostly alone.
Ginny Weasley (formerly Potter) was in Austria playing in a quidditch tournament at the moment. If Astoria wasn’t mistaken, which she rarely ever was, rogue nannies aside. She wondered what Ginny would think if she knew Harry Potter had been accosted in his children’s home.
There were no words to describe Astoria’s embarrassment. This had never happened, in the eight years her company had existed. But then again, Harry Potter hadn’t been around needing services, either.
Astoria’s company had served Undersecretaries, Ministers, Hogwarts professors, and department chairs. But none had been as high profile as Harry Potter.
“You’re right,” Astoria told him. “Maybe you would consider drawing up a more adequate procedure.”
Harry blinked, as if he hadn’t expected her to agree with him. His surprise was there briefly, only a second before it settled back into his impervious expression. He was almost unreadable as she strove to be.
“Alright, Greengrass. Say we do this. You know what was in my contract. The difference in the contract of the care of my children versus others.” Harry resumed his pacing. Astoria was coming to understand that the man didn’t like to be still.
It was beginning to drive her crazy.
She only picked up her teacup and sipped her Earl Grey.
“Yes. I’m aware of your requirements. And I still think I’m the best person for this job.” She set her teacup back in its white and gold saucer. Astoria looked up and her eyes met his own. “To ensure nothing more untoward happens.”
“It will mean living at my house, Monday through Friday and the occasional weekend. I’m always in between cases…” Harry turned sharply and began to pace again.
“I’m aware,” Astoria reminded him again, but he went on pacing.
“It’s why I’ve had to ask you to meet me so early this morning,” Harry explained, but Astoria had guessed that.
She also knew that when Harry Potter asked something, you didn’t exactly tell him no. Which she had already done once. Astoria suspected her limit for that sort of thing was up.
“There’s heightened security measures, too. Of course, all of this means a more generous wage. So there is some benefit.” Harry stopped pacing and looked at her, to see if she was getting all of it.
Astoria just nodded. She had a great understanding of Harry Potter’s requirements, as she had overseen his contracts herself.
She was about to open her mouth to respond when suddenly, the door burst open and two figures came tumbling in. Astoria recognized them well enough from their photographs. They appeared to be rustling over some small device that looked Muggle. Astoria wondered how it was working in her office in the middle of Diagon Alley. Harry Potter walked over to his children immediately.
Clary stood behind them, in the open doorway, wringing her hands. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. There was…nothing I could do! To stop them!”
As James Potter pushed away from his smaller younger brother, he gave Astoria a particularly nasty look of disgruntlement.
“Dad,” he said, turning to his father. “Can we go now?”
The younger one, Albus, was a practical miniature of his father. He was missing the hardness of Harry, however, and his face was still round with baby fat. Something in Astoria immediately adored him.
“Dad, James took my Nintendo!” Albus complained. Then he turned to Astoria and the biscuits on her desk. “Please, Miss Lady, may I have a biscuit?”
“Albus, her name is Miss Greengrass,” Harry corrected his son, tousling his dark wavy hair.
“The office lady already gave you one, weirdo,” James reported, looking to his father for approval.
“Certainly,” Astoria said, in reply to Albus. She scooted the tin to the edge of her desk with one manicured nail. Her desk was rather absent of knicknacks, except for her name plate which announced her as DIRECTOR and a moving photograph she had taken with Pansy, Daphne, and Padma Patil a few years ago.
Albus took all of this in, as he took little steps to her desk. His gaze was brought back to the biscuits almost immediately.
“Thank you, Miss Greenass,” Albus politely said.
Astoria gave a startled laugh but covered it with a cough.
Harry Potter just looked at her, mortified, as his youngest child continued to eat the biscuit, completely unaware. James gave her another reproachful look, but he’d also begun to stare at the tin of biscuits.
“You’re welcome, Albus.” Astoria crossed her hands. “Would you like one, James?”
The eldest Potter shook his head resolutely. His father touched his shoulder.
“No, thank you, Miss Greengrass,” James replied, with a pointed look towards his younger brother.
“Well, I’ll be going now.” Harry looked back at her and Astoria once again felt like a captive underneath his gaze. He wrapped a hand around James’ shoulders. Albus was drifting towards them, leaning against his father’s leg. “Thank you, Greengrass. I’ll be taking the boys with me to work today, but I can make other arrangements until you’re able to start.”
Astoria shook her head. “That won’t be necessary. I can start today.”
“Are you still sure you want to?” Harry asked, right as Albus finished with a burp that appeared to be accidental. His brother smacked him and Albus appeared ready to smack him back but Harry drew them away from each other with calm hands. His eyes never left Astoria’s own.
“Yes,” Astoria reassured him. She stood from her desk, pushing in the chair. “This will be fun.”
Harry Potter gave her a searching look, but didn’t protest further. Astoria ignored the feeling of his green eyes studying her. She had a feeling she would be doing that quite often from then on.
Astoria had her things sent to the Crooked Mug Pub (magical, with a Floo Network connection). The Potters’ residence, which was in the Cotswolds’ countryside, was a complete secret. No address had ever been recorded on paper, for security reasons, and every nanny who’d agreed to take the Potter job had also agreed to consent to the extensive ward parameters which included forgetting the exact location of the country home. Harry was clearly taking no risks with the safety of his children.
James and Albus had escorted her to the pub, barely saying a word to her. James helped her with her trunks, although when they were out of town, Astoria just placed a Feather Light charm on them. It caused Albus to ooh and aah and James to give her a disgruntled look.
They walked along the country lane, up and down gently sloping hills. A cow mooed nearby and Albus mooed back. Astoria thought it was precious but said nothing. The boys had picked up sticks and had alternated between dragging them and poking at various things.
Astoria saw a water mill ahead, the entrance to another small village. It was definitely the most country place she’d ever stayed, even more remote than the French villa her parents had near Royan. There was only one public building with a Floo Network near the Potters. And they’d already walked a mile away from it.
“We’re almost there,” Albus informed her.
“How fortuitous,” Astoria said.
The country lane came to a fork, where the right split into the little town with the mill, and the left continued down the farmland road. James and Albus took the left. Astoria reined in a sigh. It was too much to hope that they’d have a home in town.
“You sound like Aunt Mione,” Albus said.
It took Astoria a moment to grasp that Aunt Mine-y was Hermione Granger.
“Why’s that?” she asked, genuinely curious.
“She’s saying big words, no one else knows, all of the time. ‘Cept Uncle Percy. Grandma says it’s their own language,” Albus declared, as if he had just informed her of the world’s greatest secret.
Astoria was honestly surprised Albus was talking so much to her. According to all of the reports she’d been given, and even Harry himself, Albus was the quieter sibling. But it seemed somehow the roles had been reversed and James had sunk into solemn silence. With the occasional suspicious glance.
They walked on, for about ten more minutes, before they came to a halt. Astoria was relieved. She hadn’t worn the right shoes for walking at all. Her kid leather pumps were perfect for what she had been doing (sitting in her office) but not appropriate for now (galvinating the English countryside with the Potter children). She took in the view, which appeared to be just an empty field on the rolling hill. But she suspected the wards hid much more.
Albus gestured towards the stone wall that was over his head in height and about waist high on Astoria. “There!”
Astoria braced herself. Harry Potter had told her he’d fix the wards so that she’d be able to come and go freely. She supposed she would just have to trust that he had done that, in the brief window of time he had after their meeting and before reporting to the Auror Office. Astoria really didn’t fancy being burnt to a crisp.
She stepped through the little stone wall with the children. And then, the house in front of her was made clear. It was a Tudor style cottage, two stories, with three gables. There was some sort of viney plant running up the side that made it look a bit like a fairy tale. A few toys were strewn about in the yard, but the boys brushed past them to run up the small stone stairs, past the little patio, and to the front door. Astoria followed at a more sedate, but no less excited, pace. To be honest, she was curious about the place Harry Potter had chosen to live. Especially seeing as it was so far removed from respectable Wizarding Society.
Astoria stepped through the wooden front door to an entryway with lovely black and white tile. A lantern chandelier hung from the high, arched ceilings. The walls were wooden and a painted portrait of the home was hanging on the left side, above a wooden table. Astoria realized the portrait was enchanted, because in the landscape, it suddenly started to rain. Astoria smiled. She wondered who had painted it.
James and Albus were watching her with wide eyes.
“Come on,” James finally spoke. “I’ll show you to your room.”
“I can show her,” Albus protested.
“I’m the oldest.” James’ voice was stern. It was the ultimate trump card. Astoria had heard it often enough from Daphne growing up. “I’ll show her the room. Dad said she can have the one with the balcony.”
Albus gasped. “Really?”
Astoria somehow got the feeling that this was not an honor easily bestowed. She followed behind the boys as they led her through the spacious dining room and kitchen area. The kitchen was large, with dark green cabinets and a large island. There was a window over the sink, which Astoria always loved in a home. Past the kitchen, there was a staircase at the back of the house. It was small and wooden and Astoria wondered if it hadn’t been a serving staircase two hundred years ago.
The boys clambered up the wooden steps and Astoria almost wanted to laugh at their enthusiasm. They reached the second floor quickly and Astoria had to wonder if it wasn’t some sort of enchantment. Her trunks floated up after her and she directed them to the room the boys had run to, a little past the landing.
It was the second door on the right and Astoria felt vaguely curious about all of the others. She knew James and Albus kept rooms up here that she would get to know very well. For now, settling into her own room was enough.
The boys opened up the curtains on the large windows for her, revealing a set of French doors that opened up to the aforementioned balcony. Astoria took in the rest of the room with a careful eye. The four poster bed was large and covered with a finely made quilt. There was an oil painting on the wall, non magical, done by someone called Claude Monet. Astoria vaguely recalled the name from her university days.
She turned from the painting to observe the antique looking desk and dresser on the other side of the room. An ornate gold mirror was placed in the corner. And to the right of the bed, she saw the door that led to the en suite bathroom.
Astoria set her trunks down on the floor before having a quick look in the bathroom. It was a black and white tile, with a glass shower and a clawfoot tub near a small triangular window. It looked perfect for burning candles and drinking wine.
Astoria thought she could be very comfortable here.
As the boys watched her with curiosity, Astoria felt something like excitement grow in her stomach. It had been a long time since she’d taken on a case personally. She’d fallen into a routine of work, going home, and attending Saturday brunch with the girls. She occasionally marked in a date on Friday nights in her planner, but more often than naught, she spent most of her time at home.
This was something different. This was something new.
“C’mon Al, she needs to unpack her things,” James said wisely, tugging on his younger brother’s hand.
Albus left the room with wide, green eyes. He called her Miss Greenass again, but Astoria didn’t mind. He was only four years old and he was only trying to be polite. He had good manners. James did too, but Astoria suspected he had been putting on a bit of a show for her. James was seven years old going on seventeen, apparently.
When Astoria had been seven, she’d been proving her independence to her parents, too. She’d been practicing her penmanship and her nonverbal magic. She’d set her dolls out to tea and practiced her French with Daphne. It was only a year later when she learned of her engagement to Draco Malfoy. She hadn’t understood it all at the time, but she knew enough to understand that they would be married when they were older.
Astoria couldn’t imagine James or Albus doing any of that. And she was glad they wouldn’t have to.
Astoria had always loved children. Maybe it was some part of her traditional, slightly misogynistic upbringing, but she’d always known she wanted them. Or, at least she’d known she wanted to be around them. Daphne had never been as inclined as she was. When Astoria had announced she was starting her own nannying business, Daphne had been skeptical.
“You have a mastery in charms and two degrees from Oxford. And you want to be a nanny?” Daphne had questioned.
“Just because you don’t like children doesn’t mean I feel the same way,” Astoria had replied.
“You don’t feel as if it’s a waste of your education?”
“Clearly, you do. You don’t have to be so condescending about it, Daph.”
Her sister had hugged her, then. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I think you’ll be brilliant at whatever you do, Astoria. I’ll help you with Mother and Father.”
The oven’s timer beeping pulled Astoria out of her thoughts and back into the present.
She wondered what Daphne would say later. She hadn’t told her sister that she’d decided to take on the Potters’ case. Daphne had been in Harry Potter’s year, but she knew him a little better because of her relationship with the Patils. Astoria wondered if her sister could provide any insight that the Potters’ file had not.
Astoria took the pot roast out of the oven and set it on the pristine, expansive kitchen island.
She had spent the last three days settling into a tentative pattern. It was summer, so James wasn’t attending the primary school Astoria knew he attended during the fall. It was a primarily Muggle school, but Hermione Granger had started an after school program for magical children as a precedent Hogwarts and James attended that as well. Astoria thought it was brilliant, though her parents had been a bit scandalized.
With school being out, the boys were at home most of the time. James was a member of a peewee Quidditch club that had practices once a week, but it mostly consisted of coaches chasing around kids on their brooms (according to Harry). Harry had said he would take James to and from practice on Thursday nights.
Astoria checked the time. It was half seven, the sun just beginning to set. She had a good view of it through the large window over the kitchen sink. They should be home any minute.
She heard little footsteps coming down the backstairs. She smiled to herself, stirring the gravy over the roast. A dark head appeared at her side. Albus had climbed onto one of the stools that pushed up against the kitchen island.
Astoria had always believed in the approach that children would come to you when they felt comfortable enough. She had let James and Albus keep their distance the past few days. For them to be wary of another caregiving female presence in their lives was only to be expected. It would be wrong of Astoria to force anything different. Over the last few days, her patience had paid off. Albus had started approaching her more and more on his own. James still kept his distance, but Astoria was sure she could win him over eventually.
“That smells good,” Albus declared.
Astoria gave him a smile and then offered him the spoon. “You can try some, if you like. Your father and brother should be back soon.”
Albus took the spoon with wide eyes before mouthing at it like he would a popsicle. “That’s good, Miss Greenass.”
Astoria tamped down her laugh. “You can call me Stori. It’s what my friends do.”
“Are we friends?” Albus asked, leaning forward on the counter till he was practically laying on it. His green eyes were serious for a four year old.
“I’d like to be,” Astoria answered honestly. “Would you?”
“I think so.” Albus blushed. “Stori.”
She gave a faint laugh and handed him a few clay bowls. “Why don’t you help set the table?”
Albus scurried carefully down from the stool, the bowls tucked safely under his arms. He was very diligent in setting the table in the breakfast nook, which Astoria had learned is where the Potters preferred to eat. Astoria liked the breakfast nook. The table was small and the chairs were a bit more worn, with colorful cushions thrown on them. It was tucked in a corner of the house where there were large windows on each side.
It was intimate feeling, like a real home.
“You don’t use magic,” Albus noted, but his voice sounded a bit like a question.
“Sometimes I do,” Astoria said, walking over to place the Dutch oven on the table. “But sometimes I find joy in small tasks.”
“Huh.” Albus made a noise as if he was as old and wise as Dumbledore. Astoria thought he wouldn’t understand fully until he was older but she felt fondness for his seriousness. “You cook as good as Granny, but she does things all magic.”
Astoria nodded. “That’s common, in a Pureblood family like the Weasleys.”
“Pureblood?” Albus frowned. “What’s that?”
Astoria opened her mouth to explain but stopped as the front door opened. James’ excited chatter filled the house immediately. Astoria hadn’t heard him talk so much the entire time she’d been in the house. For some reason, Astoria’s heart sped up as she caught his father’s low tones. Albus was off like a shot at the sound of the door closing.
“Dad! Dad!”
“There’s my boy,” she heard Harry Potter return. “Something smells good.”
“That’s Stori’s cooking. She made a roast,” Albus explained hurriedly.
“Stori?” Harry Potter questioned.
“Al, I was talking first. Anyways Dad, Bryant was bragging how he could do a corkscrew spin and I dared him to do a double and I won, of course-”
“-James, we’ve talked about this,” Harry said, something like resignation in his voice.
They finally stepped into the breakfast nook and Astoria busied herself with setting out the napkins so she wouldn’t stare. Harry’s arms were slung around each of sons. He looked tired, but happy.
“You can’t dare other children and if you do, you can’t brag about winning,” Harry chided.
Astoria wondered at the logic in that. The Potters must run Gryffindor through and through.
“I never brag,” Albus humbly boasted.
“You just did,” James shot back, rolling his eyes.
The brothers glared at each other. Albus stuck out his tongue at James. Astoria watched all of this unfold with interest, but Harry just sighed. James reared back, and sensing a brawl, Astoria cleared her throat.
Loud enough to get the boys’ attention.
She offered them a practiced smile. “Good evening, gentlemen. Dinner’s getting cold.”
“It smells delicious,” Harry complimented her, before pulling out her chair. She gave him her polished smile in return as she sat down.
“Thank you,” she returned, brushing her hands against her linen pants to straighten any wrinkles.
Astoria was impressed with their manners. None of the boys sat down before she did, not even Albus. This was the first time they’d all sat down for a meal. The first night she’d been there, Harry had brought home takeout. Then, Harry had been called out on an overnight stakeout and James and Albus had wanted supper in their rooms. It had been an intriguing past few days. Astoria wondered if it was indicative of her future with the Potters’. She was certainly never going to be bored.
Harry dished out the potatoes.
James took in the roast.
Albus was playing with his carrots,
All of them had their napkins tucked into their shirts. It was precious.
“I like roast. It’s my favorite,” James said in a suspicious tone.
Which was why Astoria had made it. She was not above bribes. She’d found Molly Weasley’s recipes in a box in the cabinet, either left there by Harry or some other nanny. Or maybe even Harry’s ex-wife.
“It’s very good,” Harry complimented again. “Eat more of your carrots, Albus.”
Albus only made a slight face before obeying. Both of the boys were like that. Eager to please their father. At first, Astoria had wondered if it was to gain his attention, but she had quickly dismissed that idea. Harry was busy, but it was also apparent that his children were the center of his world. He was a very present father. On the night he’d been away, he’d left magical notes for them to read before bed, and the following morning he’d sent them a Patronus when it had been safe. Astoria guessed that they were so eager to please their father simply because they loved him very much.
Astoria loved her parents, but she kept a more guarded relationship with them. She’d been an easy child because she’d wanted to keep the peace. Daphne rocked the boat enough for both of them. As Astoria got older, she began to understand that instant compliance was not normal, nor healthy. Children were meant to gain independence from their parents at a certain age. They weren’t meant to be controlled by them.
When the engagement with Draco had been broken off and Astoria had told her mother that she was moving out of the house, it was like her parents were already planning her funeral.
“You don’t know what you’ve done to our family,” her mother had wept. “First your sister, now this. It’s social death. Total social death.”
It had, in fact, not been social death. The Greengrasses were too wealthy for that.
“Stori did this without magic,” Albus told them. “And I helped.”
“Wow. No wonder the mashed potatoes are so tasty,” Harry said, completely serious.
Astoria sent Albus a small smile. “Albus is a big help in the kitchen.”
“What about you, James? Are you helping Miss Greengrass settle in?” Harry asked his son. There was a knowing glance in his eye and Astoria had the suspicion that Harry knew all about his son’s attitude towards her.
James flushed.
“We have an understanding,” Astoria revealed. “James helps me with breakfast. Isn’t that right, James?”
Albus was never awake early enough to make breakfast, but James was an early riser, like his father. Even though Harry woke at the practically ungodly hour of four in the morning. He was out of the door by five. Astoria hoped that Harry wouldn’t catch out her fib.
James gave her a wide eyed look before hastily nodding. He looked down at his plate and shoveled a forkful of mashed potatoes in his mouth. Clearly, Quidditch made him hungry.
“Stori said she liked doing it without magic,” Albus said. He carefully chewed on his carrots before going on, “She said Granny uses magic because she’s a Pureblood.”
Harry’s gaze practically shot back to Astoria. She suddenly flushed hot and took a sip of her water. James looked just as confused as Albus had. Maybe the Potters didn’t talk about their family history as much. It was largely tragic, after all, but it was still worth knowing.
She looked down at her water glass. She saw Harry’s forearms tense on the table, his hands curling before relaxing just as quickly. It made the veins in his arms pop. He’d taken off his navy Auror robes at the door, but he’d left on his wand holster. The sleeves on his white dress shirt were rolled up.
She didn’t know why this would make her so nervous.
“The Weasleys are an old family,” she carefully said.
“What’s a Pureblood?” Albus asked, turning to his father.
His father, who looked to Astoria.
There was practically a dare written on his face as he arched a dark eyebrow. It was easy to see where James got his smart expressions from.
“Someone who has two magical parents,” Astoria replied.
“Is that what you are? Are your parents magical?” Albus asked, putting a hand on his chin, his carrots forgotten.
“Yes,” Astoria answered. “My family is very old. All of my relations are magical.”
“That’s crazy,” James decided. “Most of our cousins’ cousins don’t have any magic. Then there’s our cousin Dudley. He definitely doesn’t have any magic.”
“Pete does,” Albus argued.
Astoria had no idea who any of these people were.
“Boys,” Harry said, and there was a bit of a warning in his voice.
Astoria made a mental note of it. She pushed around her roast, suddenly not very hungry anymore. She sensed she had just done something very wrong in Harry’s eyes. She supposed it might have something to do with blood supremacy and Voldemort.
“So, are we Purebloods?” James asked, sounding confused. “Mum’s a witch and dad’s a wizard.”
“No,” Harry said. “That doesn’t matter.”
Astoria said nothing and the boys moved on to other topics. She stayed quiet the rest of the meal, but she knew she had blundered. She only hoped that the result of it wouldn’t be her resignation. She could feel Harry’s gaze return to her periodically but she ignored him.
The boys helped clear the table at the end of the meal and Harry sent them off with instructions to get ready for bed. Astoria stored the leftovers in the fridge, setting aside a portion for Harry’s lunch. He hadn’t asked her to do that, but she’d seen what he packed for himself, if he packed at all. It was a lot of canned beans and toast.
She’d just rolled her sleeves up again to start on dishes when a gentle hand on her shoulder made her jump.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” Harry was closer to her than he’d ever been. He looked sheepish. “Hermione tells me that I need to get better about sneaking up on people.”
“It’s fine,” Astoria said, brushing it off. She was sure he had to sneak up on people all the time at his work. Was she to be a criminal he was investigating now?
She grabbed the sponge but Harry plucked it out of her hands.
“I’ll do the dishes. Please,” he insisted.
Astoria acquiesced and stepped further away from him. She didn’t go too far. Harry wasn’t too tall for a man, but Astoria was on the shorter end, so he still towered over her. And there was a presence about him that made him seem larger than he was, even as he did something as mundane as scrubbing dirty pots.
“I don’t mind chores, honestly. Though I prefer to do them with magic,” Harry informed her, focused on his task.
He handed her a wooden spoon and Astoria rubbed it dry, before putting it away.
“Why is that?” Astoria asked.
“I grew up with my aunt and uncle. I did a lot of stuff for them. They were both Muggle and hated anything to do with magic.”
There seemed to be more to that statement but Astoria didn’t pry. From what she gathered over the years from her various relationships with their mutual friends, Harry had undergone abuse and neglect in his childhood. Astoria had privately marveled at that, because when he had been at school, he had seemed a bit untouchable. He had been a whole two years ahead of her and had set unprecedented standards in terms of popularity, and even unpopularity.
“I see,” Astoria responded. “Is that why you don’t use words around the children like Muggle or Pureblood?”
“They’re too young to assign names with meanings to things like that,” Harry countered. “There’s a lot of history behind those words.”
“That’s true,” Astoria said. She didn’t disagree with the second part of his statement.
He sent her a sideways glance. “I didn’t think…you were concerned about blood purity.”
“I’m not,” Astoria refuted as quickly as she could. She focused on drying the lid to one of the pots.
“Okay. Well, I don’t think it’s good to bring up things like that to James and Albus,” Harry said slowly.
Astoria said nothing, partly because her gaze was caught on the way the soapy water soaked the wizard’s muscular forearms. It looked like one of Pansy’s cheap Muggle dramas. He could star in one of the dramas. In fact, she knew there were several Wizarding plays that featured Harry Potter as a principal character.
She wondered what that must be like.
“You disagree,” he continued.
“Yeth,” Astoria said staunchly and then clamped her mouth shut in horror. She couldn’t believe her lisp had slipped out. Perhaps Harry hadn’t noticed. She must’ve been more stressed by this conversation than she thought.
“And?” Harry prodded.
“Yes,” Astoria said again. “I think it’s worth learning about your family and where you come from. Our families influence us more than we’d like to believe, probably. One day, James and Albus will decide what kind of legacy they want to leave for the Potter name. Maybe they don’t have to learn terms like Pureblood or Muggleborn, but they should know about their heritage.”
Harry began draining the sink. They’d already finished the dishes, quicker than Astoria thought. But maybe not as quick as she’d hoped. Because now there was nothing to buffer between her and the sharpness of those green eyes.
“If you can teach them about my mother’s family, you can teach them about anything else. That’s the deal. Alright?” Harry challenged her.
Astoria tilted her chin down. “Fine.”
She knew next to nothing about Harry’s mother, aside from the fact that her name was Lily and that she had defied Voldemort three times with James Potter. Astoria wondered what kind of woman she had been and guessed that she probably would have liked to have been friends with her.
Harry hung up the sponge and took the dirty dishcloth from her. There was a soiled laundry basket on the opposite side of the kitchen, away from the breakfast nook. The door it stood by led straight to the laundry room. Astoria had been in there only to look around so far.
“Goodnight,” he said, his tone politely warm. Then, he added, “Greengrass.”
“You can call me Astoria,” she informed him.
“Hm. Not Stori? In that case, you can call me Potter.”
Astoria flushed.
Harry seemed to catch it, even in the dark light of the kitchen window. He laughed.
“I’m joking. You can call me Harry, if you want. No one’s ever called me Mr. Potter except for the boys’ mates.” He nodded his head at her. “See you tomorrow.”
Astoria could only blink in astonishment. What had just happened?