Toil and Trouble Chapter 17 : The places we are kept - Part 3 of 3 (A Harry Potter fanfiction)
.jpeg)
July 31, 1994. Grimmauld Place
Hermione was in the old library, casting a final glance at her second years astronomy textbook. Closing the book, she decided ahe should head downstairs and see if she could lend a hand in preparations for the party. She opened the door to the soft clatter of pans and the unmistakable sound of Kreacher muttering under his breath somewhere downstairs. Grimmauld Place was cooler than Hadley Wood, the old stone walls holding night air until late morning, but it felt strangely, like a second home already.
It had taken some negotiation for her to even be here.
Hermione had initially been allowed to stay at Harry’s for only four or five days. Rose and Hugo were wary of her “imposing” on Sirius and Remus. But Sirius, who’d picked her up personally, had made a theatrical declaration from their doorway.
“Rose, love, we would be delighted to have Hermione for two weeks. In fact, we insist.”
Rose had laughed, though she still made Hermione promise to check in every evening. Hugo asked politely whether they were quite sure they could manage her.
Sirius had grinned at this, “Oh believe me, she manages herself, and the boys. We’re just providing shelter.”
In the end, they agreed she could stay until the secong of August, because Harry’s birthday was on the thirty-first, and Molly and Arthur had insisted she attend their Lughnasadh celebration on the first. So, the Grangers allowed their daughter to pack for a two week long stay with her friends.
Before coming to Grimmauld, Hermione, Harry, and Ron had spent a few easy, golden days at the Hadley Wood house. Hermione finally getting to see the inside of the house she and her parents had often theorised about. The three friends had spent their afternoons playing video games, watching movies on DVDs. Ron was a big fan of comedies like Home Alone, and The Naked Gun movies. The Back to the Future trilogy had blown his mind. Hermione herself was seeing many of these movies for the first time, as her academic pursuits had left little room in her life for such trivial pleasures.
They'd also visited amusement parks. Hermione had discovered she was terrible at racing games, and would not hold near roller-coasters, but frighteningly good at puzzle and shooting games. Harry was good at nearly every game they came across. Ron had nearly screamed while riding the loop-the-loop roller coaster, and then ridden it again immediately.
On the evening of the twenty-ninth, Hermione had phoned her parents and informed them cheerfully that she would be “going through the Fold” with Harry and Ron to stay at Grimmauld Place for Harry’s birthday. As had been agreed upon.
Rose had sighed but relented with a reminder to “just take care, darling.”
Hermione stepped into the dining room, where sunlight streamed through the curtains in slanted beams. Today was Harry’s fourteenth birthday, and a long list of guests were expected to arrive, including many of his mates from school. Hermione was looking forward to seeing them, but still felt a tinge of nervousness. Would they have any reservations about a Slytherin being at the party. But she quickly dismissed the notion. The Gryffindors, especially during the last few months of their first year, had been very warmly accepting.
Kreacher was bustling around like a disgruntled hurricane, his muttering growing sharper each time he passed her:
“…filthy little...no respect...see if old Kreacher..."
Hermione pretended not to hear. She still didn’t understand why he disliked her so intensely. She suspected it had nothing to do with her and everything to do with her bloodline, but it still stung.
“Is there anything I can help with, Kreacher,” she asked politely.
The old House Elf gave her a look that could curdle milk.
Before she could retreat, Remus appeared behind her, sleeves rolled up and hair slightly mussed.
“Ah, Hermione. Perfect timing. We’re decorating the drawing room. Want to help?”
Her eyes brightened instantly. “Yes, please!”
Kreacher froze mid-stir of the porridge, scowled deeply, and hissed, “Mistress would never.... decorations...nonsense.."
Remus ignored him completely.
“Come on, then. Lets put your Transfiguration skills to good use,” he said lightly. “Harry and Sirius are at Diagon. He's going to get his flying licence today. And of course a new broomstick."
Hermione laughed. “I can imagine his excitement. He's been looking forward to this for weeks.”
Remus handed her a small box of enchanted streamers and a jar of floating candles. "I thought we'd go for ‘warm celebration,' this year."
“Understood,” Hermione said, drawing her wand.
In the time it took for Harry and Sirius to come home, Hermione had transfigured some of the candles into wax doves that carried their flames in their beaks. They were enchanted candles, charmed to last for hours without melting. Some of the others she transfigured into broomsticks. Nimbus, the make that Harry had been talking about.
As if on cue, the green flames of the Floo roared to life, and Harry and Sirius walked in. Harry face was flushed with joy and excitement as he held his birthday present in his arms. A Nimbus 2001 Racing Broomstick.
By the time the sun went down, Grimmauld Place had been utterly transformed.
The floating candles Hermione had charmed drifted lazily beneath the ceiling. Gold and deep-red banners shimmered in long arcs across the room, glinting in the warm glow of fairy lights. The streamers coiled and uncoiled elegantly, shifting patterns like silk ribbons caught in an invisible breeze.
Guests began arriving, some through the Floo, while some apparated to just outside the house and were let in through the frint door, until the drawing room was filled with cheerful noise.
Harry looked overwhelmed in the best possible way.
Hermione stood beside him as he greeted a steady stream of friends.
“Harry! Happy birthday!”
Dean Thomas clapped him on the back, Seamus Finnigan shouting a cheerful “Oi, Potter!” behind him. Neville arrived moments later with a shy smile and a bundle of Mimbulus mimbletonia seeds from his grandmother’s greenhouse.
Then came three students Hermione barely knew.
“Eddie Wallace,” Harry said, pulling the tall boy into a brief half-hug. “He’s in our year."
Eddie grinned. “You must be Hermione Granger.", he said before Harry even had the chance to introduce her.
Hermione greeted him politely, "Nice to meet you, Eddie".
“This is Jonathan Green,” Harry continued, nodding toward a brown-haired boy who only gave Hermione a nod, “and Paula Rhodes.”
Paula shook her hand enthusiastically. "I was so glad to see you finish first Hermione. You really showed all those pureblood wankers."
“Oh! Thank you... I appreciate that", Hermione said, genuinely warmed.
Just then, Lavender Brown bounced forward.
“Oh, Hermione! I love your decorations. They're so pretty!”
Hermione blinked.
Pretty?
The spellwork she’d done required complex sequential enchantments. Layered charm matrices, synchronized levitation protocols, transfiguration stabilizers. And Lavender seemed to have dismissed all of it into one soft, vague adjective.
Hermione’s irritation prickled.
But she smoothed her expression, decided Lavender wasn’t bright enough to understand the difference, and simply said, “I’m glad you like them.”
She turned away before the blonde girl could say anything else.
Just then, Sirius’s voice called her name.
“Hermione, love? Come, I want you to meet someone."
Hermione spun to find him standing next to a dignified witch with soft features and light brown hair, streaked with a few silver strands. Next to her was a tall wizard with a rugged face, but kind eyes.
"Andy, Ted...", Sirius said to the couple, "this is our prodigy, Hermione Granger". Turning to Herhe said, "Hermione, meet my cousin, Andromeda Healer at St. Mungo’s. And her husband, Ministry official, Ted Tonks."
“Lovely to meet you, Hermione.”, said Andromeda.
"We've heard much about you, young lady", said Ted, with a smile.
Hermione straightened, offering respectful handshakes to both. “It’s an honour to meet both of you. I’ve read about your work, Healer Tonks. Particularly your groundbreaking discoveries with regards to curse extraction."
Andromeda smiled, seeming pleasantly surprised. “We'll I'm glad to see a witch so young interested in such an advanced discipline. But I suppose it should be expected. Top of your year, I’m told.”
Hermione blushed. “I… I do my best.”
“You do exceedingly well, my dear,” Andromeda said warmly. “Keep it up.”
The Weasley clan arrived like a burst of chaotic sunshine.
Molly swept Hermione into a hug before she could blink. Arthur shook her hand warmly. Fred and George immediately tried to recruit her to test a new prototype that had Sirius eyeing them with suspicion.
Ginny bounded up next, giving Hermione a hug, before she was surrounded by the other Gryffindors. Thr younger girl seemed quite popular among them. Hermione supposed they probably visited the Burrow often enough to know her intimately.
Later, as everyone drifted toward the buffet table, Hermione approached Andromeda again, with a question she'd been eager to ask.
“Healer Tonks,” she began cautiously, “may I ask… what is the process for becoming a Healer?”
Andromeda’s eyes softened immediately, pleased. “Oh of course, dear.”
They sat near one of the floating candles, its gentle glow framing Andromeda’s features.
“To apply,” she explained, “you need an Outstanding in the following NEWTs - Healing Magic, Potions, Runes, and Herbology. Some hospitals, like Saint Mungo’s expect Arithmancy as well, but the first four are essential.”
Hermione’s heart raced, not with fear, but with excitement.
“And after that?”
“A hospital-based training programme, usually five years. St. Mungo’s offers the most competitive one, but there are others across Europe with excellent reputations.”
Hermione nodded eagerly, absorbing every word.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “I… really appreciate you telling me.”
Andromeda smiled approvingly. “If you consider a career as a Healer, and if you ever want guidance, you may send me an owl. Though you still have several years before you cross that bridge."
Hermione’s chest fluttered. “I’d like that. Thank you".
August 1, 1994. The Burrow
It was Lughnasadh, and the Burrow seemed to be glowing with life. The smell of freshly baked bread and summer herbs drifting in the air. Arthur had hung enchanted ribbons across the garden, and was now helping Molly set the long table in the yard. The old wooden table groaned under the weight of pies, roasted vegetables, bread braids, and fruit tarts dusted in sugar.
Harry, Hermione, Sirius, and Remus arrived via sidelong apparation, appearing at the edge of the Weasleys’ orchard. As always, Hermione needed help maintaining her balance. Harry grinned at the familiar chaos already underway, while inhaling the warm countryside air with a soft sigh.
“Ah, the Burrow", said Sirius, quickly announcing their presence, "A place where the floors tilt, the children riot, and the food is worth dying for.”
Molly poked him in the ribs with the handle of her rolling pin, “You better behave, Sirius Black. I don't want the twins getting any bright ideas from you."
“I make no promises.” Sirius said, already wandering toward the smell of Molly’s cooking.
"Oh he'll behave, Molly", assured Remus, giving her a hug.
Molly finally spotted Hermione and Harry.
“There you two are! Come in, dears!”
She swept Hermione into a hug, ruffled Harry’s hair, before ushering them indoors.
Hermione felt warmth spread through her. This place, with its leaning walls and mismatched chairs, felt alive, woven with magic and love.
Of course, Fred and George couldn’t resist.
The moment Hermione stepped near them, Fred lifted a suspiciously innocent-looking hand. “Hermione,” he greeted. “Lovely day, isn’t it?”
George added sweetly, “Care for a slice of apple tart?”
Hermione narrowed her eyes. “What did you put in it?”
Ron froze in the middle of biting into his own slice. “…Wait. What did you put in it?”
Fred gasped, offended. “We are deeply wounded...”
“...gravely insulted...”
“...that you’d think we put anything...”
“...unpleasant...”
“...into the tart.”
Hermione folded her arms. “Your left shoe is smoking.”
The twins looked down, and sure enough, there was smoke emitting from Fred's left shoe.
They stared.
Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Colour-changing itching powder?”
Fred squeaked, “Wait! How...?”
George nearly choked. “We didn’t even activate it yet...!”
Hermione tapped her wand once, as she replied primly, “Your charm matrix was sloppy. The powder ignited early. And you spelled the sugar wrong. Not to mention, you got some on your foot, Fred."
The itching powder activated and Fred frantically took off his show and began scratching his toes madly. He only found some relief when George cast a skin cooling spell.
Both twins looked at Hermione with identical expressions of awe and horror.
Ron snorted, Harry guffawed, Ginny grinned and clapped her hands in delight, and to everyone's surprise, Percy let out a laugh. A real sound of amusement and mirth.
“I told you two," he said to his little brothers, "don’t try your nonsense on Hermione.”
Fred pointed at Hermione dramatically. “She’s terrifying, she is."
George nodded vigorously. “Absolutely terrifying.”
Hermione only smiled and lifted her chin, “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
As the sun dipped low, the celebration began in earnest.
Arthur lit glowing lanterns that floated into the trees. Molly served fresh bread and summer stew. Remus told traditional stories associated with Lughnasadh, while Sirius made dragons out of fire sparks for the children.
Laughter filled every corner.
Warmth draped over the Burrow like a familiar blanket.
And when Molly brought out Lughnasadh honey cakes, Harry and Hermione shared one, smiling in the soft lantern light.
By the time the lanterns were dimmed and the last plates cleared, the Lughnasadh celebration had softened into a golden hush. Fireflies hovered over the orchard. The grass still held warmth from the day.
Hermione stood near the gate, brushing imaginary dust from her sleeves as Sirius and Remus spoke with Arthur and Molly a little way off.
Tomorrow, August second, she would go back to her parents’ house.
Ron hovered nearby, hands shoved deep into his pockets, rocking slightly on his heels.
“So,” he said, trying for casual and missing just a little. “You could… you know. Stay the night. I'm sure Ginny wouldn't mind sharing her room. Mum and Dad could take you to Grimmauld in the morning.”
Hermione paused.
“I’d love to, Ron,” she said honestly, then hesitated. “It’s just... I need to pack my things. I’ve bought rather a lot of magical books, and they’re all at Grimmauld.”
Ron nodded too quickly, “Oh. Right. Sure. That’s fine.”
He smiled, or tried to, but something in his eyes dulled.
Hermione didn’t miss it.
As Harry wandered off toward Sirius, Ron’s thoughts turned inward despite himself.
He had seen where Hermione lived. Her house had been enormous. Elegant and polished without being ostentatious. It whispered of quiet wealth.
The Burrow leaned and creaked and spilled over itself like it was barely holding together.
Why would she want to stay here, he thought, stomach tightening, when she’s used to all that?
Hermione caught the flicker of disappointment immediately.
“Oh.... Ron,” she said, stepping closer, a little flustered. “I mean… I’d love to visit properly later. Maybe during Yule break?”
Ron blinked. “Yule?”
“Yes,” she said quickly, warming to the idea. “I’ve never been to a real Yule celebration before. With traditions and decorations and everything. I’d really like to be part of one. Here.”
Something in Ron’s chest loosened.
“Yeah?” he asked, hopeful despite himself.
Hermione smiled, bright and sincere. “Absolutely.”
He grinned back. “Alright then. I’ll hold you to that.”
They stood awkwardly for a second, then hugged. A brief, clumsy wrapping of limbs.
“See you in September then,” Ron said.
“See you,” Hermione replied softly.
August 1, 1994. Malfoy Manor
While Lughnasadh at the Burrow was warmth and laughter, at Malfoy Manor it was pageantry.
The sprawling grounds were manicured to perfection, lanterns floating high above the marble paths, leading to a grand pavilion charmed to stay cool despite the midsummer heat. Floating trays carrying appetiser and drinks glided silently between clusters of elegantly dressed witches and wizards.
Draco stood beside his parents, performing the Malfoy heir’s duty. This included being presented to people he’d never met yet was expected to remember. And pretend to like.
Lucius, coldly elegant in dark green robes, dominated the room effortlessly. Narcissa, radiant as moonlight, greeted every guest with poise. Draco followed their lead - shoulders straight, chin high.
“Draco,” Narcissa murmured to him between introductions, “remember names and families. Connections are currency."
He nodded.
Many of the business partners arrived with families. Some had daughters around Draco’s age. Pretty, well-dressed, and clearly eager to impress a Malfoy heir.
Draco turned on the charm the way Lucius had taught him. A polite smile, small bow, a kiss on the knuckles. And a compliment that was refined but never too personal.
It worked.
The girls giggled, twirled their hair, and asked whether he played Quidditch for his House team (not yet, he would this year though), whether he rode horses (he did, Abraxans of course), and whether he had ever visited France (multiple times, his family owned vineyards there).
He answered all of them politely.
Across the room, Pansy Parkinson watched him with increasing irritation. At one point, she slid up next to him and hissed quietly, “You’re enjoying this far too much.”
Draco smirked. “Jealous, Pansy?”
Her nostrils flared. “Of them? Don’t flatter yourself.”
Draco only looked amused before someone else’s parent pulled him away to introduce him to a new group.
Pansy simmered like a teakettle ready to boil over.
“Presenting Lord Tiberias Nott and heir.”
Lucius’s expression shifted into something politely cold as the elder Nott approached, ancient Manor politics threading between their gazes.
Theo walked a step behind his father. Taller than he’d been in June. A bit thinner. Eyes tired.
Tiberias clasped Lucius’s forearm with practiced formality. “Lucius. A prosperous Lughnasadh to you.”
“And to you, Tiberias.”
Tiberias did not look at Theo once. Instead, he immediately launched into discussion about investments in potions ingredients, rare artifacts, and international enchantment trade regulations.
Theo stood silently.
Narcissa, noticing the boy’s discomfort, offered him a soft nod. “Theo, dear. Congratulations on receiving your Hogwarts letter.”
Theo inclined his head. “Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy.”
Draco stepped forward, polite but stiff. “Congratulations, Nott,” he said coolly.
Theo matched the tone. “Thanks. I… also got into Beauxbatons.”
Draco’s eyebrows flicked up. That was impressive. "Oh?"
Theo continued, shrugging slightly. “But Father thinks Hogwarts is better for… appearances.”
For a moment, Draco considered saying something.
Do you want to go flying later? We haven’t flown together in ages…
But the words never made it out. He didn’t want to sound like he had missed Theo. And he wasn’t sure Theo would accept anyway.
Silence settled between the former friends.
Then a ripple spread through the crowd.
“Madame Zabini,” Narcissa greeted warmly as a tall, stunning woman swept in. Behind her walked Blaise. As elegant and composed as ever.
Draco brightened. Blaise was always a comfortable presence. Collected, confident and unaffected by social pressure.
“Draco,” Blaise greeted with his trademark soft smirk. “Enjoying the festivities?”
“Well enough,” Draco replied, “You?”
“Trying not to fall asleep,” Blaise said dryly.
Draco laughed under his breath, already drifting toward him.
Theo watched Draco walk away.
But he said nothing.
And Draco didn’t look back.
August 1, 1994. Grimmauld Place
They returned to Grimmauld Place late that night, the house heavy with the kind of tired contentment that followed a long, happy day.
Sirius yawned as he and Remus murmured something about tea but abandoned the idea halfway up the stairs. Hermione and Harry exchanged a sleepy goodnight before drifting off to their respective rooms.
The house settled.
Harry closed his bedroom door quietly behind him, the warmth of the Burrow still clinging to him like a pleasant afterglow.
Then he froze.
Someone was sitting on his bed.
A small, thin and grey-skinned house elf. His enormous brown eyes shining in the dim light. Eyes that held fear.
“W-who are you?” he asked.
The creature slid off the bed at once and bowed so low its forehead nearly struck the floor.
“Harry Potter,” it whispered reverently. “It is such a great honour for Dobby to be in the presence of the famous Harry Potter, sir. The one who vanquished the Dark Lord."
Harry stared.
The little house elf was dressed in a tattered old pillowcase, knotted at one shoulder. His arms were covered in bruises, dark and yellowed, like they’d been there a while.
“I’m...” Harry began, then stopped, unsure how to address him. “Hello Dobby. You don’t have to bow.”
Dobby gasped softly, pressing his long fingers to his face. “Such kindness! Dobby has heard so much of Harry Potter’s good heart.”
Harry swallowed, unease crawling up his spine. “What are you doing here in my room?”
The elf wrung his hands violently. “Dobby came to warn Harry Potter, sir. A terrible thing is going to happen at Hogwarts this year.”
Harry’s chest tightened. “What kind of thing?”
Dobby shook his head frantically, ears flapping. “Dobby cannot say! Dobby must not say!”
“Then how do you know?” Harry pressed. “Who told you?”
The elf whimpered. “If Dobby tells, it would mean betraying his Master.”
Harry frowned. “Who is your master?”
Dobby squeezed his eyes shut. “Dobby cannot say that either, sir.”
The silence pressed in around them.
“Please,” Dobby said suddenly, dropping to his knees again. “Please, sir. Dobby took a great risk sneaking away to come here. Please do not return to Hogwarts this year.”
Harry’s heart lurched. “I can’t just not go back, Dobby. I attend achool at Hogwarts.”
Dobby’s eyes filled with something close to despair. “Dobby could not bear it if anything happened to Harry Potter. No, Harry Potter must be safe. Please, sir. Dobby begs you.”
Before Harry could respond, the elf gave one final anguished look, then disaperated with a sharp crack.
The room fell silent.
Harry stood alone, staring at the empty space where the terrified elf had been.
