Chapter Text
Oa, this feels good. She feels good.
“Granger?”
“Hmmm?”
“Just checking you’re still with us, silent girl. That you haven’t Apparated off to save the world or rescue puppies.”
“Not today, Pans. Today, I believe the world can get along just fine without me.”
It’s exactly what she’s needed. The last week or so hasn’t been especially taxing, physically. Mentally, on the other hand…
~~~~~~
Most recently, Hermione and J’onn have started the handover protocols. Officially, a mandatory task. Unofficially, likely to be less time consuming as it’d been for Katar to her as J’onn has been Chairperson many, many times. He’ll also be offering thoughts on her tenure; excellent constructive criticism from a professional who doesn’t miss much.
The announcement of the two upcoming members had gotten Hermione praise at a Table meeting later that day. As for a mentor, not that anyone’s going to use that term around Helena, Zatanna’d volunteered. She hasn’t been in the Tower much lately and could use the time upstairs.
Zinda also had went over well; Wally’s to show her around. Hermione had felt proud she’d not the slightest bit jelly. Hard to do so anymore when he’d not picked up on Jesse’s flirtations and had brushed off a supernaturally gorgeous Frenchwoman.
Patrols, not bad. Nothing to write home about, except writing home (and to Oa) is part of the job. The League’s copies garner her ‘fan mail’ comments of sorts about her patrol actions, mostly humorous.
Only a single visit of note, with a newly emerging society consisting of a single, cohesive uni-mind and thus where the concept of ‘communication’ had never taken off. Nor had the concept of ‘people who aren’t me’ and that said people might not wish to openly share resources and property with visitors.
That had taken most of her scheduled patrol time to sort out. Hermione’d heard the famous tale of Katma recruiting Rot Lop Fan to the Corps, and felt afterwards feels she may have one of her own now.
Then, the next day, her boss had arrived.
Well, not her boss. The closest would be the Guardians, she guesses, and as always internally insists they aren’t her bosses. Their goals align with her own, and so long as that’s a truth then all is grand.
So not quite a boss. Kind of mid-level management. Yes, she’d done a bit of reading on the subject before taking up the gavel. Omicron Gold-201 of the Senior Lanterns, who’s taken an interest in no longer a rookie, and nowhere near a veteran, Field Lantern Granger.
She’d met them out beyond the heliopause along the inner edges of the Oort Cloud. A few alterations since she’d last seen Omicron; the photosensor array is now housed above the slablike main chassis on a cubical processing centre. The quadrupedal legs are thicker, as are the two upper appendages. They’ve added a second fine control manipulator too.
No changes to the uniform, of course. Not outerwear; for them a chromatic alteration on the exo-plating.
“Not an inspection,” they’d insisted to her while flying inward. “Your second isn’t for months. Nor an appraisal.” Omicron diverts slightly to study Saturn. It’s always an attraction, Hermione knows. “Call it… off-the-record curiosity. I wish to learn more of your society. Where not one, but two, Lanterns emerged and have left significant impressions on the galaxy.” Oh. She’s already left an impression. Neat.
They hadn’t been particularly impressed with the Watchtower, not that Hermione’d been expecting otherwise. Omicron lives on Oa, after all. She’d prepped the League for her guest, so no untoward stares and plenty of welcomes to the Senior Lantern. Reddy’d been upstairs to share his experiences of non-organic life on Earth. Which had brought up similar people from Hermione’s reports, such as Cinthia Frederick and the squad of metal life forms.
“You have a very unusual planet,” Omicron’d remarked while exiting the main airlock. Then the two Lanterns had descended to her homeworld for a series of atmospheric orbits, talking and flying. “Kryptonian. Thanagarian. Martian. AI. Amphibian. Magical. Human. And a Lantern. Such a cosmopolitan assembly, and working as a team.”
“I’d like to believe such contrasting people functioning as a team acts as a powerful example for my world,” she’d replied as they’d traversed the vast Pacific. “We’re a symbol as well as its first line of global defence.”
“‘Superheroes,’ yes. Fascinating. Lacking adequate technology, you employ biologically enhanced individuals to protect your planet.” Hermione’d been about to comment, except suddenly Supergirl, Captain Atom, and Firestorm had flown in below them, the Flash racing farther down along the waves. All four off to Hawaii and a possibly unnatural volcanic eruption, according to Oracle’s alert message.
Hermione’d sworn one of those photosensors had raised an eyebrow at her.
They’d come to rest on a tall butte in Arizona. Omicron had a good many questions about human society, and Hermione’d done her best to field them. As someone who’d been removed from much of it for a good portion of her life, she’d been up front at not being an expert. Plenty of books she could recommend, if they’d like.
Which had brought up magic. Omicron can’t detect magic, not a jot. “Unsettling that there is a force of nature that cannot be measured or analysed,” as they’d put it. “Action at a distance without calling on recognised fundamental interactive forces. Disconcerting.”
Hermione’d had her own questions, first over the rarity of magic in the galaxy?
(Quite rare. Assuming that sensory methods are effective. Which they are generally not.)
And if there’d been Lanterns with magical backgrounds like hers?
(Yes. A notation in their records, no mention in their activity reports. Lantern Granger might be the first in a long, long time to ally with magic users after taking up the ring. Or do battle against them, either.)
Something to think about. Before Omicron had left, they’d given Hermione more to think about. “Well over a year since your arrival on Oa. You should know several of us were watching you during training. There were… apprehensions over another human gaining a ring.” As she’d been well aware of.
“Yet you graduated with honours, top of your class. Remarkable for a person who’d never flown before.” She’d held off on telling them about dragons or hippogriffs. “As stated earlier, you have already made great impressions with the Corps and the people of this sector. Adara and Palagua lauded your efforts and leadership in establishing your sector house, and they are not known for ‘lauding’ anyone.”
That’d been… pretty cool to hear.
Omicron had then gone to the big questions. “Where you see yourself a year from now, Lantern Granger. In the field? On Oa? Perhaps as an Instructor? No,” when she’d started to reply, “think on this. The Cadre doesn’t want an answer today. Contemplate on the days to come before replying.”
Yet more to think about. Which she had before, on occasion. To have gotten these questions from Omicron, well known as one of the big players on Oa and who seems to be taking a personal interest in her career… that’d been different.
She’d also gotten advice, before. Hermione and Cameron had talked early on about duty in a cohesive unit, he in the military and she in the Corps. He’d emphasised how an officer should always be thinking of the next step in their professional career. And so should she.
The native and the guest had charged their rings together, lighting up the butte from dark red to brilliant emerald. “Continue flying bright, Lantern Granger.” Then Omicron vanished into the sky, and By the Battery they’re fast.
Fast. As the Corporate Mr Wayne might say, Hermione’d felt as if she’d just been put on her company’s fast track. Yes, matters to think about.
~~~~~~
Not that she’d been thinking about them early this morning. Which had started with incessant taps at her kitchen window. “Hon, I think that might be for you,” Wally’d whispered into her hair.
It certainly had been. She’d opened the window for Draco’s favourite raptor, a huge eagle-owl named Ulysses who’d been carrying a scroll and a pouch. Hermione’d exchanged a treat for the delivery, puzzled. Likely a change of plans for the night’s festivities, or… huh.
Granger,
The portkey inside is set for 7am.
Don’t be late, and don’t bring anything except yourself.
West, see that she does.
“You’re cleared for the whole day,” Wally’d said softly while embracing her from behind. “This morning now included.”
“You knew about this.”
“We all knew about this. Get dressed, casual. You’ve got eight minutes.”
“Wally, our gift–”
“–will be taken care of, hon. Go.”
And Hermione had, after a quick kiss. Precisely on the hour she’d gripped the broken watch band and been pulled through her navel to… Iceland, according to her ring. Not alone, either; roughly a dozen ladies had appeared in similar states of confusion.
A second Bridesmaids’ outing? No, no sign of Angelina or Katie. Ah. Not bridesmaids.
Survivors.
And thus eleven young women had found themselves horribly, horribly trapped at one of Magical Europe’s finest spa resorts for the next five hours. Well known for its secretive nature and ensuring the absolute privacy of its guests, Daphne had mentioned knowingly. Yes, she’d been here before.
Courtesy of the menfolk, according to the note given to her as she’s warmly welcomed by name. They’d been given an entire wing, including saunas, steam rooms, hot tubs, cold pools, thermal ponds. Discrete staff on hand to provide exfoliations, massages, and refreshments.
Just what’s needed to get them relaxed and ready for tonight.
~~~~~~
Relax, indeed. ‘Melt into a puddle’ levels of tranquillity, far from the madding crowd.
A private wing, so none had bothered with swimsuits. Not all that necessary after Eighth Year. It has, however, been awhile and one of the ladies is markedly different post-graduation.
“Merlin, Hermione, you are seriously fit. I thought your outfit couldn’t possibly be hiding anything, but it is. Somehow.”
“Oi! Or thanks. I guess?”
Scars, no new ones thankfully. Ginny has them too, and she’s not the only one. No one comments on those marks.
Towels in abundance as needed, and they launch into the splendid facilities. First up, as recommended, the outdoor thermal springs. Snow and ice on the shores, a mask bar for a special blend of enchanted silicates and algae, and good company. Poor jokes as everyone else uses the materials to fashion their own Green Lantern™ masks. Hermione glares, then lets Ginny make one for her.
Then it’s on to the cold dip, and shrieks. The group splits up to devote differing attentions the varied amenities. Conversations spring up, quiet and introspective amidst the alternating heat and ice. As if peeling the masks away peels masks away.
“Weasley and Potter.”
“Never doubted it.”
“You and West?”
“Yes, I rather think so. No, we think so. Not soon, mind you. You and Chance?”
“Christopher? We enjoy our time together. I can’t see it going further. Our lives are simply too different.”
“Sun’s not too much?”
“Not lately. Maybe not ever again.”
“That’s extraordinarily good to hear.”
“Amazing what they can do with potions nowadays. That sodding blood curse didn’t stand a chance.”
“The other side effects?”
“I can live with them.”
“I continue to find it fascinating how… action-filled, your life is. I always assumed you’d be in a library or the Wizengamot, not punching baddies in space.”
“So did I, so did I. I do try to avoid violence whenever possible.”
“When you can’t?”
“I start punching baddies in space.”
“This was Draco’s doing, you know. Setting this up, covering the charges.”
“I’d guessed.”
“He’ll never stop trying to make up for school, especially up to her, you know. Lucius kept changing his story as to if he’d known what the diary would do to her. Didn’t matter to Draco.”
“It didn’t matter to Ginny, either. She never blamed Draco for that. Oa knows we all had countless else to blame each other over.”
“Good thing we were all such level-headed, responsibly mature little treasures.”
“Yes, good thing, wasn’t it?”
“This view is incredible. I may have to add it as a wallpaper in my remote quarters.”
“Remote, as in remote?”
“Not around here, no. Not too far away, sort of our version of Diagon Alley.”
“High marks for dealing with the Vertices, Lantern 2814, and your regained friend sounds intriguing. I’d like to meet her, if that’s possible.”
“I’ll ask. She’s trying to keep a low profile, or I’d bring her to Al’s place.”
“It doesn’t have to be on this planet, you know.”
“Do I? Hmmm. There’s a wonderful place I know of, roughly 300 parsecs away. Would that work?”
“I imagine so. I don’t go offworld that often.”
“What about Mogo?”
“Mogo? We’re just good friends.”
The hours pass all too quickly. Towels discarded a final time, clothes (freshly cleaned and pressed) are back on. Rather like a similar centre on Oa, except there it’s back into uniform.
The portkey is a dented hubcap. An intestinal swirl later, they’re in the living room at Grimmauld. Temporarily expanded to fit everyone, and chilled drinks hovering in the air. As promised, there’s a stack of wrapped gifts in a central pile awaiting the bride-to-be.
With typical restraint and aplomb, Ginevra Weasley (not for much longer) attacks the items. Another stack forms, this one of fine wines, risqué apparel, decadent candies, and other surprises.
A few unique gifts, such as from Kara and Lena: an oversized Cubs jersey with Ginny’s upcoming name on the back. Sleepwear that doubles as lingerie, as Lena notes on the card. Bath bombs from Hermione that erupt in enticing colours and scents, to which she can personally verify. Shandra had lent a hand in gift hunting.
The sky’s turning dark when they call a wrap to the unwrapping (and sampling, and modelling, and testing). Time to get serious for the real reason they’d gathered today. Clothes are transfigured or otherwise produced for the expedition.
“Right,” Padma declares. “To your feet, girls. London awaits!”
~~~~~~
London, and a Thames River Crawl. They’d done a tiny portion during Eighth Year, all part of their Muggle Studies field trips. Honest.
The press is sure to be watching everywhere, so they’ll be randomly selected destinations via Ginny closing her eyes and pointing on a map. Only non-magical destinations too, which should help eluding wanded attention. No Apparating, and thus no magical tracking; Black Cabs instead. Also, no worries of Apparating Whilst Impaired.
They start with the recently opened London Eye, at Cho’s suggestion. “Best it’s first, as spinning in the air isn’t going to be pleasant after a pint or ten.”
A few stares for the eclectic range of outfits as they arrive; punk Astoria to chic model Cho, Sloan Ranger Hermione to slinky silks Pansy, sporty Ginny to classy Daphne. Plus a pair of identical twins in identical attire, a pair of Puffs in comfy clothing, and Luna in… actually, quite unremarkable jeans and jumper. Unusual vegetation for the earrings, of course; one that Hermione can’t recognise from Herbology.
Right. Luna. It might not be native to this planet.
Luckily, there’s not many people and they get a capsule to themselves for the half hour revolution. The view is one Hermione’s well familiar with, and she points out landmarks while Padma and Susan note the important spots. Namely, the pubs.
Daphne, in turn, delights in pointing out where Emerald Lumos has made appearances, such as the Tower Bridge, the Tower itself, Trafalgar Square, and Hyde Park. Hermione does her best to ignore the commentary. Ginny and Cho, meanwhile, complain the glowing wheel isn’t spinning fast enough.
At the apex, Pansy and Hannah quickly withdraw two bottles of champers and glasses from extended clutches. There’s a series of toasts to the night’s ginger star before it’s all tucked neatly away for the descent.
Once grounded, they jump into cabs for a ride across the river to the pub at Tattershall Castle. There’s an excellent view of the Thames from the deck as they devour fish and chips and their first pints. Water is crossed again to reach Doggett’s Coat and Badge for a series of beers both locally brewed and from across Europe. Good that they’d just eaten; gastronomical reinforcement is welcome.
Off to Founder’s Arms, and sharing bangers and mash, spicey wings, and vodka shots. Susan and Hermione stop at four, a draw declared. No sense going overboard when the night’s still young. Which Parv nearly does as they lean on the riverside railings. Onwards. The Anchor Bankside is near enough to walk, and the celebrants take in the restored Millennium Bridge along the way. Wines here, and Hermione can’t resist a New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc.
The ladies are slightly lagging as they find cabs and journey farther down the river to The Angel. A fine selection of beers and ciders, plus a proper roaring fireplace so it feels right at home for most of the group. Too at home for Hannah, who unsteadily searches the mantle but can’t find the expected bowl of powder. Luna gently escorts her back to the table.
Time to settle the bill and head upriver to the Mayflower Pub, which has an equally fine selection. The interior is covered with history and completely ignored for the dockside seating. Outside, it’s perfect for loud and messy toasting.
It’s tomorrow by now, and on leaving there’s a crucial decision to be made. That should do it, right? Do we think we should do one more? We think we should do one more. Alright, we’ll do one more.
The cabbie recommends a place that sounds fun and has a funny name. Not on the river, not quite a pub. On the plus side, it’s still open, unlike most of spoilsport London.
Vaulty Towers, and Hermione explains a little about the show. Padma and Parvati have seen it as well and pitch in. ‘Snape runs a hotel’ seems to capture it best for the rest.
It’s nearly empty and quiet. Not for long, though, as the Ladies of Survivor House take command. Soon, the DJ is in back in action and so are they. Ginny’s first to get on a table, and nobody’s trying to pull her down this time.
Mostly dancing, as few of them know the lyrics and who cares. Hermione joins her witchy-bestie, now atop the bar, until Pansy demands a turn up there. Every table has at least one witch on it before the end of the next song, and even Daphne gets into the groove. The only pauses are for quenching thirsts.
Dance like nobody’s watching. Nobody else, at least. Especially nobody from the Prophet.
Dance like you’re thrilled to be alive.
Then Hermione hears an iconic guitar hook and catches the DJ throwing her a wink. Debbie Harry goes atomic, and Hermione doesn’t hesitate to join her. Ginny slides up and makes it a trio. They dramatically act out the lyrics concerning beautiful hair, to raucous cheers.
It’s a fine finale. Outside in a deserted ally, sober-up potions are passed around. Hermione’d kept her ring in action for the most part. She’d simply been having a wonderful, unchecked time of it.
Cabs seem scarce, and Ginny grows big eyes and bats eyelashes at her almost maid of honour. Which triggers everyone else to look beseechingly at Hermione.
Fine. An unlit bubble, and they’re above Eye level within a second. A new means of travel for most of them, with gasps and giggles on the ascent. It should be an easy flight to Grimmauld, except Ginny’s batting her eyes again.
What Ginny wants, Ginny’s getting. Hermione rises higher, the stars no longer twinkling as they take a lap around the Earth. On a request, she casually adds a magnification element to the bubble to show a silvery castle on the Moon. There’s a stray thought of watching Hal do the same trick when he’d taken her to Oa. That’d been a magical day. Like this one’s been. Like her bestie is soon to have with her best friend.
And it needs to be brought to a close. “C’mon, let’s get back before Harry goes nuts and thinks we’ve been waylaid or attacked.”
“Ha ha.”
“Ha?”
“Helga’s Apron, Hermione! Don’t say things like that!”