Life in an Alien Land 1: In the Land of My Enemy

Thanks so much for all the reviews. Special thanks goes to Jilliane for her support of this story, and GryffindorClutz for the inspiration for it.

Life in an Alien Land

Chapter 8

"No, darling." Hermione cautioned as her toddler son picked up an insect tried to pop it into his mouth. Thanking all the gods for the return of her magic some two years before, she Accioed the hapless animal from between his fingers. "Bugs are for your eyes, not your mouth."

She said the last over his howls of outrage that his midmorning snack had been neatly taken from him. Delphine, in all her three-year-old hauteur declared, "Scowpius is siwwy. Bugs'we nasty."

Delphine's golden curls bounced becomingly about her head as she screwed her blue eyes shut in disgust. Hermione sighed, willing herself patience as she dealt with yet more of the Malfoy tendency towards imperious disapproval. She really was Lucius' daughter. "Delphine, please."

"What, Mummy?" She batted her lashes in a way that reminded her of Draco and Hermione could say no more. It had been two and a half years, and she still hoped for his return even as she acknowledged the likely possibility of his demise. The ache of longing for him softer than her initial grief, but still rooted deeply within her heart.

She had moved from the Manor to Hogwarts where she was soon to take up the post of Ancient Runes and Arithmancy Professor. Neville was the Herbology Professor and Luna slated for Care of Magical Creatures while her husband, Blaise Zabini, would teach Potions. Filius Flitwick, who somehow survived the war in the ruins of Hogwarts, would teach Charms and assist Minerva McGonagall in Transfiguration classes. The former Head of Gryffindor had not fared well after Hogwarts fell, and her health was on the decline. A Muggle by the name of Byron Fletcher was slated to take over the Muggle Studies Department, which had expanded to include the disciplines of Biology, Geology, Geography, Physics and Muggle History. Severus was Headmaster once more, and Ginny and he were expecting their first child. Hermione hoped they would be married before the insistent infant made its debut. She was due a month after their wedding date at week's end, but the infant had already shifted lower in preparation for the birth. Poor Ginny would be waddling down the aisle if she made it at all.

Hogwarts was scheduled to take its first students since the war ended on the first of September. Hermione looked over to the gates, formerly the sturdiest sentinel against Muggle intrusion, but now marred by a military guardhouse. The UN forces sent to man it from around the world changed every six months, their presence a daily reminder of the changes wrought to both Muggle and wizarding society. A Pakistani guard smiled and waved at the children. Hermione knew him by his friendly reaction to her children. He seemed homesick and she resolved to bring Delphine and Scorpius to see him at teatime.

What Voldemort wanted to preserve he had destroyed. Lucius, as Minister for Magic was now one of the servants of the vast and indifferent British civil service. He served as liaison between the Magical and Muggle worlds. Ginny worked with Lucius in the newly restructured Ministry, along with Percy, Fred and Bill, whose family had survived intact at Shell Cottage through use of a Fidelius Charm. At least the victors had let the wizards and witches keep their low profile, but more was expected from the magical world now. It was a hard won battle, and Lucius had withstood the worst of both worlds' ire as he brokered the terms of the truce that would leave at least a little autonomy for their kind.

Tonks had resumed her role as Auror but was partnered with a Muggle Intelligence Agent. She chaffed under the new rule more than most and although she did not blame Lucius for the new state of affairs, she certainly accosted him about the situation whenever and wherever she felt like it. Their relationship was, to say the very least, tempestuous, but close and loving at the same time. Lucius, in his aristocratic way, enjoyed the more relaxed attitude of Tonks. When they were together around friends and family, Tonks was generally draped around him affectionately.

Hermione envied both the Snapes and the Malfoys their bond.

Ron was the fly in the ointment. He seemed to drift from one scrape to the next. He had lost his way during and after the war and was killing himself and his family because of it. Molly was due for a visit tomorrow evening, and Hermione knew the Weasley matron would inevitably bring up her youngest son's latest scrape with the law. Hermione tried to have patience, but after all that had passed between herself and Ron, she had little sympathy for him.

"Mummy!" Delphine cried, drawing Hermione's attention as the little imp perched on a toy broom, given to her by Lucius, her 'doting grandfather' the role they had agreed he would assume after Draco's death. "Wook, I'm fwyin'!"

The imp promptly toppled from the broom and amidst tearful anger, she ran to her mother, showing off her scraped knee. Scorpius followed, crying because he felt the need to join his sister in the solidarity of the younger sibling. Hermione gathered her daughter to her and said, "I think it's nap-time. Let's go back and all get some rest after I clean your knee."

Scorpius toddled beside them, his grubby hand in his mother's, as Delphine protested the unfairness of being three.

&*&*&

Drew was a puzzle to Maeve even after two years. He was unfailingly polite, attended church services every week, helped on the farm and took his duties with the local Constabulary quite seriously. He even had a small, yet devoted female following in the village, not that he gave them any mind, good boy that he was. Yet, there was a strangeness about him that set him apart. Some of it could be explained away by his lack of memory, but others things were not so easy. He acted as if he had never seen a film or TV and was fascinated by the stories, from The Teletubbies to The East-Enders. He had no idea how to drive when he first came to the farm and even said he thought he had never been in an automobile. In his first weeks in his new home, he had to be watched around common things like electrical outlets and the gas hob; things he should have known about according to the doctors they took him to see. The same doctors that held out little hope that his memory of his life before he was found would return.

Maeve could not help but suspect his story was a tragic one whenever she saw him staring off into space, his grey eyes cold and forbidding yet tinged with sadness. However, all her fears for him would be forgotten when he smiled on Niamh and Delia, or teased Harold and Liam while they tended the sheep. Felix had been called up again by the navy since the troubles, and so Maeve and all five children had the running of the farm to keep them busy. Felix would be home for Christmas she hoped.

Drew entered the kitchen from the back door, looking smart in his Constable's uniform, even if she could see the outline of that stick he insisted on carrying in the sleeve of his shirt. He and Harold had both taken the tests in January and had started their careers as police officers just a month back. Maeve's Irish background caused them a good deal of good-natured laughter at her expense the first time she had enquired about their first day as a member of the Garda. She asked the question every day since then, just to poke fun at their British ways. Drew stood behind Maeve and with a good-natured kiss to her cheek, snagged a bit of the batter for the tea biscuits. She slapped at his hand with a wooden spoon, but allowed him some more. "Now, son, how was the Garda today? Did you catch any criminals?"

"The usual, Mum. Tim Murcheson's been on a bender and ran down the thoroughfare nude. The Herrold’s sheep ran amuck and ate the vicar's roses," he said as he licked his fingers, delicately like a cat, his pink tongue darting out against the red of his lips. "Where's my Nave? I have something for her."

“Don’t call her that, “Maeve huffed." And no more gifts, Drew. You spoil her."

"That's what little girls are for," Drew answered, and then paused in one of those odd shifts of mood he had. "It feels like I've said that before."

Maeve got that quiet unsettled feeling she always did when he got a glimmer of his past life, especially where it concerned his supposed wife and child. Somehow, whenever she saw him with Niamh, she could believe him a father. Before she could formulate her now automatic disavowal of his statement, an odd tapping noise sounded on the window. Drew looked up expectantly. "It's an owl."

He opened the window and gave the bird a treat of batter, as if it were the most normal thing for a body to do. The bird seemed to understand his actions and nipped at Drew until he took the paper burden out of its uplifted talon. Maeve remained motionless as the boy turned the envelope over in his hands. "It's addressed to Niamh."

"Let me see." Maeve held out her hand and Drew placed the missive in it, a scowl of concentration on his face.

He paced to the window and watched the owl disappear into the May aftenoon. "That wasn't normal, was it, me knowing that owl had a letter?"

Maeve frowned and said absently, "No, boy, but nothing about you ever has been." She looked at the address on the old-fashioned paper that slid against her farm-rough hands. "Have you heard of a place called Hogwarts?"

"It's a school in Scotland." Drew answered as the timer bell dinged for the biscuits. He moved gracefully to the oven and removed the baking sheet from it. "It's that new place the government opened for gifted students. It's been in the news."

"Well, I know Niamh's smart, but she's not likely to get into a school like that," Maeve answered still frowning. "Not with the trouble she's been in."

Drew began plopping spoonfuls of dough onto a cooled sheet. "People are too hard on her. She can't help it if she has odd accidents. She takes after me."

"She flew... Flew to the roof of the school when those nasty Murcheson boys were chasing her." Maeve answered. "It makes me wonder if she's one of them..." she lowered her voice to a husky whisper, "Wizards we keep hearing about."

Drew turned his gaze to her, his expression speculative. "If she is, maybe I am too."

"Don't be daft, young Drew." Maeve countered, but could not meet his gaze. He had been found when the anarchists quit coming round, and he did have a thing that might look like a wand. When he got angry things tended to explode, the last being the electric teakettle, which he had sheepishly replaced with a better one, Maeve added to herself. "Wizards are no more real than fairies. They're just the latest boggart held by the public and the news people. When I was a lass it was aliens doing bad things."

Young Drew looked as if he would speak, but Maeve interrupted, "Now, get on with you, and clean up. Tea will be ready soon."

"Yes, Madam, I shall." He gave his stiff bow that he always did when he was angry or disturbed. Maeve vowed to make it up to him with an extra serving of clotted cream, his favourite.

&*&*&

Hermione took tea out to the young soldier at the gates. Delphine followed carrying the plate of biscuits with the unaffected self-importance of her age. Scorpius was sleeping in Severus' office since the Headmaster had suddenly become interested in the care of young children. Hermione thought he might make a very good father if he could get over some of his snarkiness. She knocked on the shack's door and was pleased to see the guard emerge with a smile on his face. "Ah, it's young Miss and her mother."

“My name is Delphine. “ Her daughter curtsied clumsily with the covered plate of biscuits, and the man laughed delightedly. Hermione was charmed by his reaction and Delphine smiled at him brilliantly. "What's that?"

"That is a gun. It's only for soldiers, not little girls." The man followed the child's gaze and he quickly shut the door to the shack. "Now what brings you here, Mrs. with her lovely daughter?"

"It's Miss." Hermione said, not wanting to leave the man with the wrong impression. He turned gold-flecked eyes to her, his expression warming. Hermione noticed lines in his face that had not been apparent from the distance she had always observed him before. He was quite good-looking with his cocoa-coloured skin, waving, black hair and neat white teeth. "Miss Granger. I was never married. I was a forced-concubine during the war."

"Oh." He said, his expression never changing from one of polite interest. It was a definite change from the pitying or horrified looks she received when she told most people. "It is nice to finally meet you, Miss Granger. I am Sergeant Ali Khan. I, too, was never married ."

Delphine shifted restively and the soldier turned to her. "I suppose these biscuits are for tea?"

"Yes, Mummy said you wooked wonewy." Delphine said. "Hew weal name is Hehminy."

"Delphine, you know your are not supposed to call Mummy by her first name,” Hermione scolded blushing at her daughter‘s forwardness with the young soldier and the regard he was now showing her.

Ali Khan smiled at the little girl, but had his eyes on her mother. “Your mother is very perceptive. I miss my brothers and sisters very much. Would you care to join me for tea?”

Hermione flushed and the young man flashed a pretty smile as he proffered his arm. The two followed him to the shade of a tree beside the gatehouse. Hermione Transfigured a blanket from the leaf litter and resized the pot of tea, much to the soldier’s skilfully repressed amazement. He laughed a little nervously, “I will never get used to the idea of all this magic in the world. You could be a beautiful djinn from the Arabian nights, Miss Hermione Granger.”

“I’m too plain for that to be true, and too bushy-haired.” Hermione countered, feeling heat creep up her neck.

The man merely gave a delighted laugh, “You have beauty, wisdom and humility. All the characteristics of a good wife according to the Prophet. May Allah be praised that you bring me tea and become my friend.”

&*&*&

Drew had a date with the first girl he had shown interest in since he began his sojourn with his new family. It was the vicar’s daughter just returned from University with her pretty, brown curls, golden-brown eyes and cute, upturned nose with the spray of freckles across it. No one figured her good-looking enough for Drew, but he liked her looks and her kind eyes. They reminded him of someone... He shook his head in frustration as the image he chased sped beyond his reach. Maeve fussed around him with Niamh making comical little cracks at his expense. He combed his hair away from his face as Maeve worked on his tie. “Really, Mum, I can dress myself.”

“I wish you had a jacket to wear. It‘s always nice to make a good impression” Maeve stepped back, eyeing him critically. “Are you certain Harold’s is too small?”

Niamh laughed giddily, her eleven-year-old humour lost on her mother. “He could wear it if he wanted to look like a scarecrow.”

”Hush.” Maeve said, scooting her daughter out of the room. “Go help Delia with the evening dishes.”

Maeve turned back to Drew still assessing his appearance, and then left the room returning after a few moments with a vintage, Nineteen Eighties jacket with a narrow lapel and exaggerated, top-heavy silhouette. The only thing that saved the jacket from utter atrocity was the grey linen it was made from. “Perhaps this would do. My Felix is bigger than the boys, more near your size, I‘m thinking. The colour should show off your eyes.”

Drew fought a losing battle with a grimace before taking the jacket and donning it. Niamh returned. “Mum, not Da’s old clothes! They're ancient.”

“I’m proud to wear it, Nave.” Drew said with a wink at his pet name for the little girl. She stuck out her tongue. “Thanks Mum.”

When Maeve left the room, Niamh came to stand next to him, in one of her silent and stealthy movements. To Drew it seemed as if she winked out then into space, rather than moved physically. “I can fix it. Just stand still.”

Drew did as she asked and he watched in amused silence as she moved her hands over the jacket her tongue between her teeth in concentration. The jacket shrank and reformed into a more stylish configuration. She let out a compressed huff as she finished. “It always makes me tired to do this.”

“Perhaps, if you...” Drew paused as he slid the stick from his arm sheath. “Try this.”

He held it out to her while he gave it an experimental wave and silver sparks shot from its tip. Niamh gasped, and then she clapped while doing a dance of joy. “I knew it. You‘re like me. Do you think you went to that special school too?”

“Let’s just keep this between ourselves, okay, Nave?” Drew said. “I don’t want to worry Mum.”

“’Kay, but will you take me to the school when the time comes? I’ve seen pictures of that Headmaster in the school brochures and he looks like a mean one.” Niamh answered with a little pout. “Please?”

“I will try.” Drew answered solemnly. “Perhaps if...”

Niamh hugged him around his middle, her head coming just up to his shoulder. “I know, Drew. It would be nice to find your own people and fit in, wouldn’t it? I‘d like that too.”

&*&*&

Teatime with Ali Khan continued into the summer. Hermione found the young man was not so young. He was twenty-five and had been betrothed to a young woman who had died during an student riot in Karachi. He spoke of her with fondness and regret, but never mentioned his feelings for his betrothed. Hermione shared some of her experiences during the war, always shying away from her feelings on Draco, though she thought the perceptive Sergeant might have guessed about them. Ali Khan was always properly respectful of Hermione, never touched her in an inappropriate manner and was circumspect in his regard of her.

He was also very strictly religious, which aroused Hermione's dormant Anglican leanings. During their friendship, she offered to prepare a meal for him, but he declined, politely and with an apologetic shake of his head. "It would not be halal, the meat. I am a Muslim, and I must eat meat that has been killed and prepared in a certain way, in dishes that never held pork."

She tried not to be insulted or hurt by his statement, but she was. She stayed away from him for a few days until she could ascertain just why she felt the way she did. She did not want to admit that perhaps Draco's memory was not enough for her anymore. Ali Khan's gentlemanly treatment of her and his regard for her children drew her to him, but she feared she had deeper feelings for the soldier than he ever could for her given their differences.

In late August, he received new orders. He was being transferred to London to guard Lucius for six months and from there he would probably go to Afghanistan. Hermione was stricken at the thought of losing her steadfast friend and strode to his room in the Three Broomsticks to resolve the matter of her feelings toward him finally. He greeted her sadly. "Hermione, I shall miss you."

For the first time in their stilted relationship, he touched her skin as he took her hand in his. The contact was pleasant but not electric as it had been with Draco, her broken boy. Ali Khan uttered, "I am afraid, we must part, but I wanted to let you know, that your... friendship has meant a great deal to me."

"To me also." Hermione stepped closer to him. "Please write to me. I've always wanted a pen-pal."

A fat tear plopped to his hand, and he kissed her. The softness of his lips and his hunger made up for his lack of technique and finesse. As he broke from her, he said, "I shall always love you, Miss Granger even if I am half a world away. My orders are that I am to leave tonight... otherwise... I would act on my feelings for you, whether it damned me or not in the eyes of Allah."

He turned from her as he picked up his military issue duffel. "I hope you find the man you lost. I know you still love him and if he is alive, I know he still loves you."

He kissed her once more, tasting of cinnamon and his own special essence. "Who wouldn't love such a virtuous and beautiful woman?"

Thus ended Hermione's first brush with a romantic entanglement since Draco. She spent the rest of the summer holidays in a funk, using work to ease the pain of yet another loss. She lived a half-life through her children, enjoying their lack of complexity and their unconditional love. Perhaps she just was not meant for romance. Or, perhaps it was just not meant for her.


Thank you for reading, and please let me know what you think.