Notes: The Re-establishment of Endangered Species

At (Nearly) 40

“In my experience, over years of managing — nurturing — a preserve, I’d have to say the toughest act is giving a species back to nature. Horror stories abound where conscientious keepers and magizoologists have done everything in their power to prepare their charges, and the environment, for ‘reintroduction’ — only to lose them to illness, starvation, predation and sometimes loneliness. It’s hard on all who care and harder on the creatures themselves who’ve been forced to leave a place they know.” — The Bureaucrat’s Guide to the Rehabilitation and Re-establishment of Endangered Species page 496

“Merlin — your garden’s larger than our training field!”

The new assistant coach for the Holyhead Harpies sat her broom in wonder at the expanse below her. Beside her, matching speed and direction, sat the heir to said garden.

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Weaslette,” he chuckled.

“Potter. Or Ginny.”

His scowl had her laughing.

“Ginevra will do,” he corrected. “I —”

Ginny cut in, mimicking Hermione mimicking Draco —

“— despise nicknames,” they ended together. “I’m aware,” she added, laughing easily at the put-upon spoiled prat.

“Your ‘friend’ still struggles with Gryffindor talkativeness. Her Ministry speeches should be bottled as an insomnia cure.” 

Her lazy leftward turn forced Draco to cease ranting and follow, deepening his frown; Malfoys set paths, they didn’t follow them.

“Is she coming back?” Ginny asked when her host caught up again. “To the Ministry, I mean.”

He smirked, glad to confront the direct nature and quick mind of Arthur and Molly’s only daughter.

“Are you asking her intent or my preference?”

The red-head took her time responding, surveilling the expanse to choose her words advantageously: her reputation for bluntness was surpassed only by his dear Hermione’s.

Lifting her gaze from the path they flew — “Both,” — wafted over Draco as an answer.

“She doesn’t adore the job,” he explained, “but she can’t keep hiding here — it isn’t good for her. She needs to re-engage. And do so differently, in my opinion.”

Ginny accelerated, dodging through forested limbs and foliage to focus her thoughts. Draco trailed her every maneuver like he’d trailed innumerable snitches as a younger man. She spoke her deductions when she slowed, flying backwards to face him.

“She doesn’t really want to go back,” the red-head revealed, “but it’s Hermione — duty, responsibility, indispensability and all that utter nonsense.”

“You know her well,” he complimented.

“Well enough to know she hasn’t made a selfish decision since she married Ron. Well enough to know I haven’t seen her truly happy in years and —”

She stared through Draco to complete her observations —

“— well enough to know she loves you and has for some time.”

Draco’s smirk fell from his face, tumbled through the trees and shattered somewhere near the eastern entrance to his family’s crypts.

“The timing never made sense to me,” she went on, frowning. “A day after my git of a brother is all over the Prophet with Lavender again, Hermione arrives at the Burrow ready to strip him in the kitchen. He’d really hurt her — but she didn’t care as long as they got back together.”

Ginny lowered her stare.

“Weeks later she’s pregnant and getting married and it’s all tied up neatly with a red and gold bow. I know Hermione; she was too determined for it all to be genuine.”

But for the swooshing from the brooms, the silence was unbroken until Ginny spoke again.

“I’m sure this invitation covers more than me racing your arse into a tree, Malfoy. What’s going on?”

Her eyes went wide when Draco’s chesty laugh floated by on the slight breeze.

“Potter doesn’t have a clue, does he? Has he realized how much smarter you are than the rest of us?”

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Ferret.”

His petition for assistance couldn’t be voiced until he caught up with the former Quidditch superstar once again…

_____________________________

Hernione’s 40th fell on the Druid holy day — Mabon; Draco would preside over the festivities as his ancestors had. 

His lioness would be stunning — a vision in fall colors of rust and wine draped to accentuate her curves and shapely legs — and nervous as a kneazle at her first family event since Ron’s untimely end. 

Primping and preparing the reluctant center of the attention (as Hermione fussed over all the fuss) fell to Hermione’s best friend and Ron’s daughter. The effort consumed the eve of the big day.

“Gin, this dress is a scandal! I’m a 39-year-old mother, not some tart on the pull!” Hermione fretted to the mirror; Mrs. Potter’s couture charm kept the Minister’s cleavage prominent.

Ginny huffed in amused frustration.

“40 not 39 — sit. Rosie, give us a minute?” More brunette frizz loosened under Ginny’s wand. “Hexes may fly.”

The threat instigated a reflected glare from the birthday “girl”.

“Try not to kill each other,” Rose advised on her way out. “Uncle Draco wouldn’t like it,”

— and the door swung closed to her mother’s ear-splitting shriek — “ROSE CEDRELLA WEASLEY!”

“She’s right; he’s smitten — has been for years.”

The widow considered how little her marriage resembled that of her closest friends.

“Losing a 30-year relationship takes time to process…” the widow rationalized, aloud and unsteadily, in reflection. “I have two children who’ve lost their father…”

Ginny placed herself between the mirror image and the real Minister, bracing her weight against the vanity.

“You struggled — every marriage does, but I’d say yours more than most. Always thought you married my git of a brother too quickly after his sixth ‘Lav-Lav’ episode. I suppose you had your reasons…”

Knowing what needed to be said wouldn’t prevent inadvertent hurts without careful wording. Ron’s only sister took her time before pressing on.

“You just weren’t suited. Even Mum saw it by Hugo’s first birthday. Ron thought you insane for working when your personal vault held ample galleons from your Merlin First-Class and you…” 

A deep breath — drawn slowly and expelled with an audible *whoosh — let silence prevail before Ginny levied more long-overdue truths.

“I’ve only seen you truly happy on three occasions after you married: when the children were born, when you took over MLE… and whenever you’d been here at the preserve — or the Manor, I’m not sure which and it doesn’t matter,” she rushed on. “You’re happy here…”

“I loved Ron; you know —”

Ginny cut her off.

“We ALL loved Ron. Doesn’t mean he suited. You weren't in love with him. Seeing you with Draco, it’s-it’s obvious. Do us all a favor: respect our intelligence. We’re grown-ups; we understand — the heart wants what it wants.”

Ron’s widow sniffled and dabbed gingerly (to avoid ruining her makeup) at tears of shame and relief — “I strongly disagree about being grown-ups. Can’t have happened; I’d have noticed George maturing.”

“Spot on, Madam Minister; now, hold still or this will take all night,” Mrs. Potter agreed and set herself to finishing the job of making the woman beyond beautiful.

Hermione’s personal stylist restarted the aborted preparations.

“You deserve to be in love.”

“Tell Rose that. She’s still quite disappointed in me.”

The hands styling her hair stuttered for an instant.

“I’ve… spoken with her,” Ginny confessed. “She’ll come ‘round — and if she doesn’t, there’s always extra workouts with my team.”

Laughter distracted Hermione from further concern about how much of the truth Ginny gleaned.