Lumos

Chapter Fifty-Seven: "Inheritance" (II)

She gave him time to think.

Fleur held up a pack of nappies at the end of the aisle and raised her brows.

Was she in earnest?

Hermione bugged her eyes out and glanced down at herself. She wasn't even showing yet, and Fleur thought nappies were in order?

Fleur snorted and stuck them back on the shelf.

"Little kisses stolen behind a cupboard door," George said finally. "Tangly, honest conversations with the ones who love you." He pulled the flour and reached over her head to stick it in the basket. "Bread." His touch brushed against her waist, through the sundress. "Laughing so hard you spit your drink all over Mum's table."

His warm touch circled around the curve of her waist before pausing and falling away.

Hermione stepped from her perch and turned. George had released the trolley with his right hand, and now leaned a bit against the left one.

"What else?" she asked, searching his face.

He tilted it to the side, nearly bringing his scar to his shoulder. Behind the disillusionment enchantment, his eyes bored into hers.

"Love," he said, scrunching his face in a half tired, half amused fashion. Like he was humoring her. But his gaze stuck and held.

Hermione nodded.

Then she stepped under his arm, crossed to the produce, and picked out a pack of carrots.

#

July 21, 2003, 11:50 a.m.

Fleur and Jane made a formidable team. Jane had arranged Hermione's list of questions and requests for resources; Fleur had sorted and scheduled the healer visit, their disguises, and the excuse for any signs of stress on Hermione's body.

Bacri was a retired muggleborne who came from France, settled in Switzerland, and didn't speak a word of English. Thus, it was highly unlikely the healer would have any interest in contacting Vane or Umbridge. But not impossible.

So they were to be John and Meg Ashford.

Upon arrival, they gave a set of fake names. After which Healer Chantal Bacri ushered them into a cramped living room. The grandfather clock against the staircase wall ticked louder than all of their voices combined. An old pendulum thing, that would have to be maintenanced with a key. Hermione made a note of its shape to tell Arthur.

Hermione held still and tried not to shy away when the older woman reached to cast the diagnostics. Fleur translated the French to English. Hermione received a stern lecture about balanced nutrition, which she returned with a volley of questions that kept the healer quite occupied.

They managed to make it through Jane Granger's tick list.

George camped next to her side the entire appointment on a floral print chair, gaze flicking from the healer, to Fleur's translation, to Hermione's rapid clicking of her muggle pen on her notebook, to the healer's massive collection of garish Dominic Maestro Fan Club memorabilia on the walls.

Oh. Yes. There was that, too.

To her credit, Fleur hadn't known about the healer's decor until after their arrival.

A warning might've been in order.

It felt a bit maudlin getting examined under the smiling eyes of her baby's departed great-grandfather—who neither she nor George had met.

At least the results all seemed promising—all was fine. Still. The healer wished for her to gain more weight, which seemed a bit like telling a beached fish that it'd be more comfortable in the ocean. Obvious.