Nineteen Years and then...

Chapter 6 – Revelations

The sun had long since dipped below the rooftops of Grimmauld Place when Harry returned home, the wards humming softly as they adjusted to his presence. He hadn’t meant to be gone so long, but the implications of the meeting with Madani and what they’d uncovered left him with plenty of work to do and further, a reluctance to rush home and pretend the world hadn’t shifted beneath his feet.

The house was quiet—except for the faint echo of Lil's laughter and Mrs. Figg's low tones from upstairs. He found a note on the kitchen counter in Hermione’s neat script:

Picked up Hugo and dinner. Kreacher and kids made biscuits - left you some. Lil’s school things are packed and repacked..and repacked in her bag by the stairs. 

x H

He smiled faintly and folded the note into his pocket. The smell of shortbread lingered, warm and nutty. He poured himself a cup of tea and settled into the worn armchair near the hearth. On a small plate beside him were three golden biscuits, their tops studded with toasted almonds. He bit into one—buttery, with just a hint of vanilla—and closed his eyes. It was perfect.

By the time Lily had finished her bath, brushed her hair, and fussed over her outfit for the first day of term, Harry felt more grounded. Mrs Figg said goodnight leaving him to the simplicity of parenting duties—checking Lil's satchel, laying out her shoes, listening to a very serious debate about whether she should pack an apple or a banana—all of it was a blessed distraction from the storm brewing beyond their door.

Once she was tucked into bed, hair still damp, arms curled around her favorite kneazle plush, Harry lingered for a moment outside her room, smiling to himself. She’d insisted earlier that she didn’t need an escort for her last first day at St. Oswin Primary School—that she was perfectly capable of taking the Muggle bus. He’d been horrified, of course, until she giggled and admitted that Aunt Mi had predicted his exact reaction. Annabella would be taking her and Hugo in the morning, just as planned.

Feeling slightly ridiculous for falling for the joke, Harry returned downstairs and reached for his wand. He tapped the lights low and took out his phone to text the witch who had been on his mind constantly for the last few days.

Feeling slightly ridiculous for falling for the joke, Harry returned downstairs and reached for his wand. He tapped the lights low and took out his phone to text the witch who had been on his mind constantly for the last few days.

Harry: 

“Hope you’re asleep already, but just in case—you’ll be brilliant tomorrow. I’m cheering for you. What time’s the presentation?”

Her reply came almost instantly.

Hermione:
10 a.m. sharp. Thank you. I’m nervous.

Harry:
You’ve no reason to be. You’ve worked harder than anyone. They’ll see that.

Hermione:
My biggest fan 💛

Harry:
Want to come over for dinner tomorrow night?

Hermione:
Hugo’s got a swimming gala.

Harry:
Ah.
Hermione:

Raincheck? Kids are at the Burrow with Ron on Wednesday...

Harry:
Can I take you somewhere nice? Somewhere that doesn’t serve anything slimy or seafoody

Hermione:
High standards. I accept. I expect tablecloths and candlelight.

Harry:
That shall be arranged

Hermione:

💛

[a pause]

Harry:

Blow their bloody minds tomorrow, Granger.

Hermione:
Haha. Thanks, Potter. G’night.

 

He set his phone aside and let his head fall back against the chair. The smile tugging at his mouth lingered longer than he expected.

He set his phone aside and let his head fall back against the chair. The smile tugging at his mouth lingered longer than he expected.

The Ministry of Magic always felt colder before sunrise. Harry stepped out of the lift and into Level Two, his boots echoing faintly on the tiled floor. His office was dark, undisturbed, save for the neat stack of parchments he’d left behind the night before.

He sat, wand tapping against his mug as he reviewed the joint protocols he and Madani had drafted. Layers of surveillance. Monitoring charms embedded in existing security wards. Passive observational spells tuned to magical signature anomalies. And perhaps most critically—a short list of personnel who would be looped in. As few as possible.

Harry exhaled and began skimming the roster of Aurors. He needed someone discrete. Smart. Loyal. And crucially—not tied to any of the old bloodline houses.

He stopped on a name: Nia Montgomery.

Half-blood. Ravenclaw. Brilliant with ward diagnostics. No ties to the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and a personal vendetta against purity politics after what happened to her grandfather in the first war.

She’d do. But Madani had been clear: until they could bring someone else up to speed without raising suspicion, Harry himself would need to handle surveillance. They couldn’t risk word getting out, not when the threat might already be inside the Ministry.

So for now, he’d be the one keeping watch.

He worked steadily until Draco’s voice cut through his focus.

"You're here early. That’s usually my trick."

Draco stepped in, sharp-eyed and already perfectly put-together. He eyed the parchment spread across Harry’s desk.

"Working on something exciting, or is this just your idea of fun now?"

"Classified," Harry said shortly.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Really. Pulling rank this early in the day?"

Harry looked up then, and their eyes met. Something passed between them—trust, tension, the lingering weight of shared experience.

Draco gave a slow nod. "Understood. Just... let me know if I need to be wearing dragonhide instead of pinstripes."

"Will do," Harry murmured.

And he would. Eventually. But not yet.

He glanced at the clock. 6:52 a.m.  A little over three hours until Hermione’s presentation.

Three hours to get everything in place.

Harry arrived at St. Mungo’s under his Invisibility Cloak well before ten, slipping past bustling Healers and mediwitches with practiced ease. He moved like a carefully, alert but unobtrusive, his eyes flicking to every doorway, every unfamiliar face. He paused briefly just outside the small auditorium designated for the presentation, casting silent detection spells around the perimeter—checking for magical tampering, tracking charms, concealed figures. All clear. Only then did he slip inside.

He remained cloaked and still, tucked against the far wall of the room as the Board of Directors filed in and Theo opened the presentation. No one indicated they noticed him—though he suspected Hermione might have, from the faint arch of her eyebrow in his direction before she turned to the Board.

Harry watched.

Hermione was dressed in a smart muggle-style skirt suit that hugged her curves. She was wearing low heels- kitten heels, he thought she had called them. Her hair was gathered in a low bun and she looked effortlessly elegant and almost intimidatingly naturally beautiful. He thought about her retort regarding her appearance the other day.  She had no idea how stunning she actually was, he had no doubt.

But it was when she started speaking that Harry felt truly awed. He had seen Hermione give interviews, lectures, even testimony—but this was different. She was luminous. Precise without being cold, confident without arrogance. She spoke of magical compatibility and gestational stabilization with such clarity and ease that even the older Healers on the Board leaned forward, nodding slowly as they took notes.

Her diagrams floated in the air beside her, crisp and elegant, her logic impeccable. Theo filled in with the occasional observation or clinical case study, but it was Hermione’s voice that anchored the room.

Harry, still cloaked, barely noticed the hour pass.

He waited until the applause died down then he followed the Board members as they filed out, still talking among themselves in hushed, excited tones. 

He lingered just outside as business concluded. A group of Directors emerged, Hermione last, talking quietly with Theo, both of them holding thick folders and looking far too composed for what they’d just done. Harry trailed behind them until she split off to return to her office. He followed her through the open door.

The door clicked shut behind them. Hermione stood by the desk and placed the folder on it.

"You can take the Cloak off now," she said, still facing away.

Harry huffed a quiet breath and pulled it off, folding it under his arm as he stepped toward her.

"When was the last time I managed to hide from you under this?"

She turned slowly, the faintest smile tugging at her lips. Leaning back against the edge of her desk, she shrugged, casual—almost.
“It’s been decades, Harry.”

He looked at her, openly now, letting his admiration show. Goodness, she was remarkable. Her brilliance. Her poise. The fire beneath all that control.

She flushed slightly under the weight of his gaze, but didn’t look away.

He took another step closer. Now just in front of her, close enough to feel the warmth radiating between them, he said softly, “You were…” he searched for the word. “...perfection. It went really well, didn’t it?”

Her expression flickered—pride tempered by caution. “Better than well,” she admitted. “The Board was thrilled. We’ve been invited to present before the International Confederation of Magical Medicine next month. Peer-reviewed, fully documented… maybe even implemented into standard protocol within a year or two.”

Harry’s stomach twisted. The space between them—once sparking—now seemed edged with something darker.

“So more people will know,” he said, his brow furrowed.

She met his eyes, reading the worry there. “That’s the point. Safer outcomes. Better understanding of magical compatibility in surrogacy.”

“And higher visibility,” Harry murmured, tight in the chest.

Hermione narrowed her gaze, sharp and direct. “What is it, Harry? You’re scared. I can see it.”

He hesitated, then nodded. “There’s a credible threat. A new group—serious. I’ll explain everything in a secure space later, when we’re all together…with Yasmin Madani. But I couldn’t not be here today. Not after what we’ve found.”

She reached for his hand, fingers wrapping around his with quiet certainty.

“We knew this could happen,” she said, voice low but steady. “Theo and I have taken every precaution. We’re being very careful.”

He shuddered faintly. “They’re already watching, Hermione.”

He searched her face—her strength, her steadiness—and wished he could bottle it, wear it like armor.

She gave his hand one more squeeze. “Then I’m glad you’re here,” she said softly.

They lingered there, neither moving, the air between them charged with everything unspoken.

Finally, Harry took a step back, slowly letting her hand slip from his. He gestured toward the Floo, voice a little hoarse. “I should get back.”

She gave a single nod, almost imperceptible.

He turned, then paused—looked back at her, fully.

“Please, Hermione. Just… be safe.”

Her lips curved, barely. “Always,” she whispered.

Harry Flooed to the Department of Records to retrieve a sealed file Madani had requested—something to do with legacy bloodline tracking tied to old Ministry registries. The clerk took an age locating it, muttering about misfiled vault logs and protections from the last war. By the time Harry boarded the lift to return to Level Two, the file clutched under one arm, nearly forty minutes had passed—enough time, he realized, for Theo and Hermione to have had a quiet conversation. And, knowing Theo, enough time for him to act on it. He quickly sent a couple of messages via patrons and text. 

When he returned to his office, Draco and Theo were waiting. Draco was pacing; Theo perched on the corner of Harry's desk, arms folded but face unreadable. 

"You know," Draco said, not bothering with a greeting. 

"I do know," Harry replied. He closed the door behind him and drew the privacy charm.

"Then let’s not waste time," Theo said. "We want the truth."

Harry nodded and grabbed the file from his desk. "I've sent a message ahead to Madani. You deserve to hear everything."

Draco resumed pacing immediately. "Excellent."

Harry pulled out his wand and conjured a silvery Patronus. "Yasmin Madani. Meeting in Secure Briefing Room 2B," he dictated. "Everyone we discussed yesterday." He sent it streaming through the office wall. 

Draco had paused mid-step. "And 'everyone' includes who exactly?"

"Hermione, Elira, Amaya... and Nia Montgomery—she’s going to be point on surveillance detail. Madani’s coordinating the rest."

Draco huffed. "The rest ? We’re calling in half the bloody Ministry. What’s next, tea and biscuits for the Prophet ?"

Theo snorted quietly behind him.

"You’re being dramatic," Theo said calmly, though his crossed arms betrayed his own impatience.

"I am being efficient," Draco muttered. "Everyone’s going to take their sweet time—"

A green flame erupted in the hearth, and Hermione stepped through with her usual efficiency, brushing soot from her suit and arching a brow. "You rang?"

Hot on her heels was Madani, followed a moment later by Nia Montgomery, whose crisp nod to Harry was all business.

Elira and Amaya were next to arrive, appearing together in the hallway.

"Well," Draco said dryly, watching the sudden influx, "I take it back. That was shockingly fast."

Harry rolled his eyes and turned to the others. "Let’s move to the secure briefing room. 2B. We have a lot to cover."

The secure briefing rooms at the Ministry were windowless and silent, muffled with layers of sound-dampening and privacy enchantments. Madani warded the door behind them with a flick of her wand, and everyone took their places around the circular table.

Madani began outlining what she and Harry had pieced together—the Aeternum Circle, the pattern of targeted bloodline experiments, the intelligence gathered from Austria and France. Theo and Draco listened intently, Hermione scribbled notes in her usual quick, slanted hand, and Nia Montgomery added intermittent observations about surveillance logistics.

Elira sat forward at the mention of magical interference. "Maybe there’s more," she said, brows knitted together. "Lavender—my colleague at Magical Family Welfare—she flagged something odd in one of our oversight reviews. A child’s file had been altered. The charm trail was faint, but not standard Ministry protocol. It mimicked Elimination Clearance magic."

Madani straightened. "Who’s Lavender?"

"Lavender Brown," Elira said. "She’s our department’s lead on enchantment screening. Also… she’s married to Ron Weasley." She nodded at Hermione. "Formerly of Granger-Weasley fame. Stepmum to Hugo and Rose."

Madani looked over Hermione to Harry. "Do we need her in this room?"

Harry hesitated, then nodded. “If she’s already seen tampering tied to Elira’s network, yes. She needs to be briefed in. And Ron needs to be in this, too. He’s not just co-parenting with Hermione—he’s on the compliance side. If they’re targeting magical families, he might spot something we’d miss.” 

Hermione let out a breath and gave a small nod. “Just… maybe give Lavender a bit of time to process before dropping her into an emergency op."

Elira leaned back in her chair. "You say that like she hasn’t handled worse but she has." Hermione shifted to look at her. Elira smiled wryly. "And she’ll say she predicted this, too—months ago, actually. She told me something was off about the file systems we were reviewing and doom-guessed it might be linked to a larger network. She’s been watching quietly ever since."

They broke briefly for lunch, summoning sandwiches and soup from the canteen and spreading parchment notes across the table in a flurry of scribbled updates and magical cross-checks. Lavender joined them, her presence efficient and quietly supportive. She listened, asked insightful questions, and by the end of the working session had already flagged three additional case files that warranted investigation.

Later that afternoon, as the briefing wrapped, people began drifting out of the secure room. Harry walked with Hermione back toward his office, both of them quiet in the wake of so much new information.

She paused at the hearth before the Floo. "Thank you for taking care of all of this, Harry." She stepped forward and brushed his cheek with a kiss as she squeezed his hand. "I need to get back to St. Mungo’s. Theo and I have follow-up rounds with the Board."

He nodded, suddenly reluctant to see her go. "Right. Of course."

She stepped into the Floo and gave him a small, tired smile before vanishing in green flame.

Harry sank heavily into his desk chair. He flicked his wand to close the door and dimmed the lights. He felt dull and tired. He leaned back in his desk and breathed deep breaths...in through the nose to the count of four...hold four...out through the mouth to the count of four...hold four...in through the nose...

He settled into the rhythm and breathed.

____

It was late afternoon. Harry and Ron were in the lift up to Hermione’s office on the fourth floor, where the air always smelled faintly of  antiseptic. Harry was tagging along after a late lunch, having promised to walk with Ron to a meeting.

The lift creaked upward with a slightly uneven jolt, and Harry glanced sideways at Ron, who was fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve like it might escape.

“You’re not actually nervous to tell her, are you?”

Ron looked up, startled. “What? No. Why would I be? I’m not nervous. I’m—” He exhaled hard. “I just don’t want to cock it up.”

Harry smirked. “Mate, you’ve already got the awkward blushing down. You’re halfway to charming.”

Ron elbowed him, but there was a grin behind the pink flush in his cheeks.

“She’s going to be fine,” Harry added, more gently. “It’s Hermione. You know she’ll want you to be happy.”

Ron didn’t respond right away. He just nodded, rubbing the back of his neck.

When the lift doors opened, they were greeted by the usual semi-chaos of the fourth floor—interns in overstuffed robes rushing past with case files, a crying baby somewhere nearby, and the faint clink of potion vials from a lab off to the left. Harry followed Ron down the corridor, past a waiting room of pregnant witches and their partners and into Hermione’s office.

Hermione didn’t look up when they entered. She was buried in a stack of patient charts, curls pulled back in a messy knot secured by her wand, a quill behind one ear and another scribbling furiously on a form. Her reading glasses were perched halfway down her nose.

“Kettle’s hot,” she said without glancing up. 

Ron moved to the cabinet automatically while Harry dropped into the worn armchair opposite her desk.

“Busy day?” Harry asked.

She made a sound that was halfway between a sigh and a laugh. “Is there any other kind?”

Ron handed her a mug and then took the seat next to Harry, crossing one leg over the other and bouncing his foot nervously.

They talked for a few minutes—about the Ministry, about Hugo’s last match, about Lily’s newest obsession with ballet slippers—and Harry watched Hermione slowly soften, lean back, sip her tea like the paperwork could wait a minute.

Harry nudged Ron’s foot lightly with his own.

Ron shot him a look. Harry raised his brows.

Go on.

Ron cleared his throat and looked at Hermione. “So… I, uh… I’ve been seeing someone.”

Hermione looked up over the rim of her glasses, blinking.

“Well. Not seeing seeing. More like—running into. Regularly. On purpose. And I’m maybe hoping it turns into actual seeing. You know.”

Hermione smiled. “And?”

Ron glanced down, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s Lavender.”

There was a pause—not heavy, not sharp. Just a moment of shifting air, like the room had tilted slightly.

Hermione tilted her head. “Lavender Brown?”

Ron nodded, still studying his shoelaces.

Harry watched Hermione’s face carefully. There was no flicker of hurt, no trace of surprise. Only a softening around the eyes.

“She’s good,” Hermione said after a beat. “Really good. She’s been working with some of my trauma patients. She listens. She’s patient. And her daughter—Clara, right?—she’s lovely. Hugo’s mentioned her.”

Ron looked up, relief flickering in his eyes.

Hermione set her tea down and leaned forward, arms on her desk. “Ron, I’m glad.”

“You are?”

“Yes.” She smiled, and there was no trace of pretense in it. “You deserve someone who sees you, who brings out the best in you. And if that’s Lavender—then I think that’s wonderful.”

Harry watched as Ron blinked hard and gave a small nod, his ears going pink again.

“I didn’t want you to feel responsible for me,” Ron said quietly. “I know I leaned on you a lot—more than I should have.”

Hermione shook her head. “Oh, Ron. We did our best. And we made a pretty brilliant pair for the years we needed to. But it’s okay to let go of what wasn’t working. It’s okay to want joy.”

There was a quiet beat, and then Harry broke it with a grin. “Can I just say how relieved I am that there are no dive-bombing canaries this time?"

Hermione snorted. “Give me credit.”

“Oh, sure, you get loads—especially for not weaponizing wildlife this time,” Ron muttered, and all three of them laughed.

The moment passed, but the peace in the room stayed. Harry leaned back, smiling at the quiet comfort between his two dearest friends, and thought—not for the first time—how proud he was of how far they'd all come.

__

He jolted awake at a sharp knock on his office door. With a muttered charm, the lights brightened, and he crossed the room, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Ron and Lavender stood just outside.

"Oi, mate—beauty sleep’s supposed to improve things," Ron quipped, stepping inside as Harry waved them in.

Lavender gave Harry a soft smile, her tone gentle. "You look done in. Long day?"

Harry nodded and closed the door behind them. Lavender steered Ron toward the sofa and settled in beside him.

"You're officially looped in now?" Harry asked. "Madani signed off?"

Lavender nodded. Harry turned to Ron. "Any questions?"

Ron blew out a breath and shook his head. "Nah. Madani and Lav explained it pretty well. I just..." He ran a hand through his hair, then tapped his foot against the floor. "I want to help. Whatever that looks like. Keep Hermione safe. Be ready with the kids if things go sideways. Just—keep me in the loop, yeah?"

Harry hesitated, the lines around his mouth tightening.

Ron caught it. "What is it?"

Harry swallowed, voice lower now. "I’m scared, Ron. Really scared. This isn’t what we’ve seen since the war. It feels... different. Bigger. Smarter."

Silence settled between them, heavy with shared history and unspoken fears.

Then Lavender reached out, laying a steady hand on Harry’s knee. "We’ll get through this," she said softly. "You're not alone in this. Neither is she."

Harry nodded, jaw tight. "Yeah. We will..."

"We've got no other choice."