Trinity Angles (Discussion Thread)

[Xamusel]

This was awesome! And, yes, we did deserve it. Thank you for the share, Kieran... now, though? I need to get more writing done on my end for things for here.

[Kieran]

All good things to hear.

[Arbitrarity]

Ah, using the D&D options literally. Easier to interpret than whatever abstract logic Magic lore runs on. Red eyes, white hair, pointed ears... some variety of elf, but Drow feels wrong. Then again, albinism isn't out of the question.
I was unaware Dhampir was a racial option in 5e, but I suppose we've finally had enough splatbook time to exist. Nice.

Now, you and your friend here came through a snarl half an hour or so ago—possibly more than just you, given the number of bolts

Interesting choice of noun. I guess I can visualize a snarl as an abstract tangle of magic, and bolts of magic coming off of it at the same time as Takara/Hermione emerged, but it is interesting that this is a phenomenon they understand well-enough to make that kind of prediction.
I'd definitely be worried about Galen being interrogated, if he's been found; since it sounds like he was kind of at the center of things, he may well appear strange, magically speaking. Perhaps just lost, though.

[Kieran]

Ah, using the D&D options literally. Easier to interpret than whatever abstract logic Magic lore runs on.

Yes, sadly. I love the setting and the lore of Magic, but I've yet to see its mechanics and abstracts written well - so D&D it is.

. . . Then again, it also spares me having to explain at least half-a-dozen planeswalkers igniting on a single world, in a single event, so - there's an upside? *Shrugs*

Red eyes, white hair, pointed ears... some variety of elf, but Drow feels wrong. Then again, albinism isn't out of the question.

Quite - and environmental effects could be a factor, as well (shadar-kai looked fairly wasted, coming from the Shadowfell, for example).

I was unaware Dhampir was a racial option in 5e, but I suppose we've finally had enough splatbook time to exist. Nice.

As of Van Richten's Guide to Ravenloft, yes - and because "experimented on" is a potential origin for one, it can suit Hermione, rather than forcing her to turn Lawful Evil and literally become Takara's walking nightmare. Not that it isn't and wasn't tempting, because those vampires can be cured through a miracle, wish, or by reincarnating them after being destroyed, so there's an actual solution. Not an easy one, but still . . .

Interesting choice of noun. I guess I can visualize a snarl as an abstract tangle of magic, and bolts of magic coming off of it at the same time as Takara/Hermione emerged, but it is interesting that this is a phenomenon they understand well-enough to make that kind of prediction.

It's effectively a crossing of leylines, and the major one powers the heart of the campus - so random bolts shooting out of it and dropping people off as they strike is a bit concerning . . .

I'd definitely be worried about Galen being interrogated, if he's been found; since it sounds like he was kind of at the center of things, he may well appear strange, magically speaking. Perhaps just lost, though.

Or denied entry, given what Ilya had to do - Outer Gods and Overgods aren't typically things allowed on the Material Plane, after all.

[Xamusel]

So... Kieran, what can you say about what happened here, exactly? What happened between the end of Voldemort and the start of this snippet?

For context, I mean to the cast, man.

[Kieran]

It's basically the same isekai plot I've used before, but they've wound up here - and adapted, as necessary. The shorthand would be "The Scarlet Seven as D&D 5E characters."

[Xamusel]

That makes sense to me, man. Thanks for the clarification, pal.

[Kieran]

12 Grimmauld Place
London, England
December 27, 2006








Until very recently, Hermione hadn’t had much reason to use the “reading nook” in Grimmauld Place—not in the way it was meant to be used, at least. Today, however, as Elise crawled along the floor, exploring the room, she threw open the drapes to let the “bay windows” (lack of a view of the water notwithstanding) bring in as much sunlight as they could.

. . . And, finding herself unsatisfied (but unsurprised, as it was December in London), she added her own addition to the illumination efforts.

“Expecto patronum.”

Hermione braced herself, unconsciously. Ten years of habit, and memories of the times where she’d been exposed to one, led her to expect the pain that followed the conjuring of a Patronus—

And as the ethereal form coalesced, shining, the absence of that agony was nearly as euphoria-inducing as the protective warmth it exuded.

Elise squealed in delight at the sight of the Patronus and began crawling towards it. Part of Hermione wanted to close her eyes and bask in the warmth—in the rhythmic beating of her heart, her breathing, in the fact that she didn’t have to consciously do either—but she watched the infant carefully, instead. As expected, once Elise got close enough, she tried to reach for the Patronus; having expected it, Hermione caught her and swept her up into her chest.

Elise shrieked, reaching insistently and trying to wriggle her way out so that she could reach, but Hermione held firm, murmuring endearments in a low tone. Her Patronus, for its part, thrummed with gentle power, eventually quieting the infant’s agitation. It was hard to be upset when pure positivity, personified, was permeating the environment.

“I’m still getting used to that,” came a voice, and Hermione turned, swivelling Elise alongside, to see Galen at the doorway with bottle in hand.

“Well, it has only been a few days,” Hermione pointed out, before cocking her head inquisitively. “Which is more startling to you, out of curiosity? The fact that I can do it, now, or the fact that it isn’t Nala?”

Elise, for her part, was more interested in Daddy being within view—or, more probably, her lunch—and began struggling anew, reaching for him now and crying.

“The first,” he admitted, coming forward and taking the infant from her. She settled along the length of his arm, reaching to hold her bottle in place as she eagerly sucked down the contents.

It briefly crossed Hermione’s mind to wonder if she had looked like that when feeding . . .

“Considering that back at the beginning,” Galen pointed out, recapturing her attention, “I expected your Patronus to be an otter, that it’s different isn’t too big a surprise—and after something like this, it should have changed. But after a decade of being careful to keep you away from them, the fact that you can just stand there . . .”

Hermione nodded. “It’s a big shock.”

As big as her initial transformation into a vampire, literally . . .

“Everything’s going to change now, isn’t it?” she said, half-musing aloud, half-asking—and the sudden flash in his eyes caught her off-guard.

Without Legilimency to draw on, it took Hermione a moment to place his reaction—but she’d had an excellent memory before she’d learned Occlumency and spent that aforementioned decade diving through his own. As such, it didn’t take her long to realise that she’d quoted herself . . . Well, technically, anyway—her on-screen counterpart in the Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire film had asked the same question, with the same intonation and inflections. She knew that doing so would’ve triggered a rush of nostalgic affection from him, even if she couldn’t feel it for herself any longer—and while normally, Hermione found the reaction amusing (albeit exasperating), if not outright endearing, in this case . . .

“It wasn’t wholly meant rhetorically, Galen,” she said flatly, before warning him, half-seriously, “and so help me, if you just say ‘Yes’ . . .”

His lips quirked at her acknowledgement of the reference, before shifting to pensive. Silence hung between them for a long moment, before he spoke.

“With the caveat that we really ought to wait until tomorrow, at the earliest, to discuss this seriously,” he said finally, “since Takara should have her say in things, and we don’t want to spoil her ‘Moms’ Day Off . . .?'”

Hermione nodded in agreement. It would be cruel to let her relax with Ilya at a spa all day, only to have her come home to a heavy discussion like this—especially when the whole point of going had been to get rid of her stress . . . But she did want a serious opinion; or at the least, reassurance, and to know that he’d seriously considered the question and wasn’t just blithely assuming everything would be “fine” when he gave it.

There was a pause in the conversation as Elise finished her bottle, and Galen set it aside and her into cuddling position, so that she had a break to digest before racing around the room again. Fortunately, a full tummy tended to make her sleepy, and Daddy was a nice warm pillow. Burying her face against the side of his neck, arms around his shoulders, she quickly drooped into the dead weight of a sleeping infant.

“Would you mind, Hermione . . .?” Galen whispered.

Without a word, Hermione cast an Imperturbable Charm. Not a strong one (partially because she had done so silently, but only partially), but enough that voices at a conversational volume wouldn’t wake Elise—and being as she was in Galen’s arms, they’d know easily enough if she did wake.

“Thank you,” he responded. After a beat, he sighed before continuing, “All right—honestly, in my opinion, it’s basically inevitable that some things will change. . .” Galen looked at her intently, before adding firmly, “But there will never be a point where you don’t have meaning to me, Hermione—even if the nature of what that meaning is changes, that will remain true for as long as I live.”

The British witch blinked, knowing that he meant that reassuringly; and on one level, it was, but the manner in which it had been delivered . . .

Realisation struck then, like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over her—and her Patronus vanished. She stared at Galen with what a distant corner of her mind noted was probably undisguised horror.

“Are you . . .?”

The words caught in her throat—it felt like her heart had stopped, and for an irrational moment, she feared that she was somehow reverting . . . But the crying urgency of her lungs said otherwise, forcing Hermione to stop and take several deep breaths, running through an Occlumency exercise to centre herself before trying again. Even then, her voice was smaller—more fragile—than she would have liked.

“Are—are you asking me to leave . . .?”

The mere thought made her chest feel like it was caught in a vise, her throat clogged with cotton; this place, these people, had been her home for a third of her life. Two-thirds of her life, counting Hogwarts! They were, she’d thought, family—why would he do this to her . . .?!

“No,” he said immediately, his voice firm, if little more than a whisper.

Which took away almost any sense of relief the answer gave her—when he looked blank but could barely speak, Hermione knew, his emotions were so thick that an explosion of some form was almost guaranteed to be imminent. Try as she might, however, she couldn’t puzzle out what was priming him to go off . . .

Annoyed with herself, the British witch was forced to admit that she’d gotten too used to Legilimency and had fallen out of practice at reading him the hard way. It was giving her uncomfortable flashbacks to some of their worst interactions at school—

The penny dropped.

“. . . Do you think that I’m going to leave you?”

Even Hermione wasn’t sure what was strongest in her voice when she asked the question—shock, disbelief, confusion, hurt or outrage—but they were definitely all there, and getting stronger the longer the silence stretched onwards.

Galen closed his eyes, a bad sign in her experience. It meant that he either needed a moment to organise his thoughts, think about exactly the words he wanted to say, or pull himself back from the brink of exploding—though at this point in time, Hermione could absolutely sympathise. . .

If the cause of her being in such a state wasn’t the wizard in question, that was.

Hermione retreated into her Occlumency exercises again, even as she half-readied herself for a fight. It wasn’t likely, not with Elise in his arms—she certainly hoped not, at least—but given that she’d seen none of this coming at all, Hermione felt she was right to be wary . . .

Galen opened his eyes, and she tensed; if he noticed her readiness at all, however, he gave no sign of it. Instead, he spoke to her in a melancholy tone, soft and weary.

“I think, Hermione, that a lot of the things you wanted for or out of your life, you had to give up. And now, there’s a chance for you to get some if not all of it back—I’d be a fool to think you wouldn’t consider the opportunities available to you now, and worse if I let them pass you b—”

As he spoke, Hermione’s shock and disbelief began to fade (the former more than the latter, as he went on). The confusion remained about the same but hurt and outrage rapidly moved in to fill the emptying spaces—and it showed as her eyes narrowed and her jaw set. Only Elise’s being in his arms kept her voice at a low volume, but she made up for the relative lack of sound with sheer intensity.

“And just how,” she demanded fiercely, “does that translate to my leaving?”

“‘A collar made of silk is still a collar.’”

There was no anger in Galen’s voice at all; no venom or undercurrent of malice that indicated a desire to see her suffer, which there would be if he was furious, or hurting. Indeed, he spoke as gently as she’d ever heard him, sounding tired if he was anything at all . . . Nevertheless, Hermione still recoiled as though he’d struck her.

It might’ve hurt less if he had.

“I didn’t mean—!” Elise stirred, and Hermione stopped, nearly a year’s worth of ingrained memories of the volume and pitch she could reach driving the British witch to moderate her own. “Galen, I didn’t mean—!”

She stopped again, but this time, due to the hand gently placed over her mouth.

“That doesn’t mean you were wrong,” he said softly, removing his hand. “But now the collar’s off, Hermione—you’re free. And you have the right to explore what that means, decide what you want. You deserve to be able to—”

Now he stopped, because she placed her hand on his mouth, and her eyes narrowed as she absorbed what he’d said, and how . . .

“The lyrics are, I admit, mostly new,” Hermione said tightly, “but this is beginning to sound like a very familiar song, Galen. ‘That I might choose to leave,’ wasn’t it . . .?”

“It’s a genuine choice now, Hermione,” he pointed out. There’s no axe—from the Ministry or anyone else—hanging over your head any longer. No one can, or should, punish or fault you for it if you decided you wanted to go—"

A part of Hermione understood that he was trying, as always, to err on the side of overcaution when it came to her rights and freedoms. That part would be touched and pleased, later—for now, though, the rest of her decided that outrage was the rightfully dominant emotion out of the mix.

Hermione was still relearning the limits of her body—and with Elise in his arms, she was limited in what she could safely do anyway—but the British witch was still quick and strong enough to pin him to the wall.

“If I really wanted out,” she snarled, “a properly used Fidelius Charm would ensure that neither you nor anyone else would even think to look for me, much less find me; and I’d Obliviate the Secret-Keeper, if I was unable be such myself for some reason, just so you couldn’t. And from the moment we learned that that was possible, I have always had that option—and I made my choice.”

The movement was counter-intuitive, from this position: bringing her left hand to his left hand. She’d lost none of her flexibility, however—to say nothing of her determination—and swung sharply.

Even in the relative dimness of the room, the entwined platinum bands on her finger flashed dazzlingly; the ringing as they connected with their opposite, however, clearly indicated the steel core beneath.

“And even as frustrating as it sometimes has been, and is,” she said heatedly, “I have never had cause to truly regret it.”

The silence stretched between them for a beat, and Hermione was pleased, to a degree, to discover that experience allowed her to read him just as well as the blood bond would have.

“. . . No, Galen,” she answered his unspoken question, “not even now.

“Which doesn’t mean that I’m not very angry about this,” Hermione warned, “but I know you, and I can still at least guess what you meant . . .” She sighed. “And if you didn’t care so much, you wouldn’t be you.”

Now it was Galen’s turn to sigh. “I’m sorry, Hermione . . .” His lips flashed in a smirk, briefly, and he added dryly, “But in my defence, a certain someone once lobbied very hard, for quite some time, for me to have a normal life—and I believe she deserves no less care.”

The blush was so unexpected, and fierce, that Hermione actually forgot, for a moment, that the sensation of her face feeling like it was on fire was both a normal and (should-be-) expected reaction—and that realisation, when it came, just made it worse.

When she could finally form a coherent sentence, Hermione mumbled, “All right—so neither of us is above hypocrisy . . .”










Writer's Notes: The current Grail Works chapter has one page, so far, despite a week of thought - this took about a day and a half, from thought to writing . . .


As you may have guessed, this is (theoretically) part of my original holiday idea - the one that seems better as a larger work. Also, that after 10-odd years of considering it, I have an actual cure! Like Hermione's vampirism, it's canon-derived if not canon-supported (in fact, if I'd known what Rowling's released about vampires since, the last two Trinity books would've been very different), with more than a little artistic license on my part. I do think it hangs together, though.

Of course, having cured Hermione (one way or another), the question then becomes "What now . . .?" After all, in some ways their arrangement only worked because Hermione was what she was; on the other hand, they've been a family unit for, as Hermione points out, basically a third of her life - and ties like that, when they're good, are not easy to walk away from . . .

[Arbitrarity]

Ah, I can see why this was an impulse, very natural follow-up.
As far as I can tell, you carefully avoided specifying what the Patronus actually is, beyond "not an otter", and "not Nala", which is still quite ambiguous. I suppose I should be guessing. Given Galen's level of insecurity, I'm adding "not a wolf/werewolf" as a probable extra.

And we are, of course, right back into misunderstandings and Galen being self-deprecating to a fault, the instant that we don't have telepathy.
There are layers to that; it's overly considerate/insulting in that way we're used to, but it's also looking for emotional security. Galen is seeking certainty on something he has undoubtedly thought about and probably dreaded (then felt self-hatred for dreading, because curing vampirism is Good for Hermione, and fearing the implications of that is therefore Wrong). I'd imagine he doesn't have quite as much trouble with insecurity these days, but "Everything's going to change now" is pretty ominous.

It's interesting because it's something that looks unselfish and over-the-top considerate, but in some ways isn't. Honestly though, I sympathize with it more because it's a bit selfish, especially some of the rough delivery. He's had time to consider what the "right" stance is, but it's still raw and scary

Also, re-checking, Galen cited Power Struggles?! I was wondering when Hermione said that,context makes that so much worse. Hermione's right to be mad about that; that's a ton of unnecessary pain to be digging up here to make that point.

Also, that after 10-odd years of considering it, I have an actual cure! Like Hermione's vampirism, it's canon-derived if not canon-supported (in fact, if I'd known what Rowling's released about vampires since, the last two Trinity books would've been very different), with more than a little artistic license on my part. I do think it hangs together, though.

I'm not totally familiar with extended canon, so I don't have a guess for what this is. Hmmmm.

After all, in some ways their arrangement only worked because Hermione was what she was; on the other hand, they've been a family unit for, as Hermione points out, basically a third of her life - and ties like that, when they're good, are not easy to walk away from . . .

I mean, it definitely provided a push (in Takara's words), but I'm not sure I'd say only worked. Only came about, sure, arguable. I don't see their relationship as intrinsically unstable without that necessity binding them, unless we have some long-running and well-concealed resentments. Galen's concern about independence is the most relevant; people do reconsider things when their options open up.

[Kieran]

Ah, I can see why this was an impulse, very natural follow-up.

*Nods* And bits and pieces of it - as well as a larger story - have been bugging me since before Christmas . . .

On a more amusing note - you'll recall that I originally mentioned (back in the Writer's Notes of the Girl Meets World snippets) that it took over a decade to cure it? I was mentally tossing around the idea of twelve years, specifically (one less than 13, that being a significant magical number), but didn't want to be that precise in case I changed my mind . . . Well, I came up with the specific cure last week, and the chapter where Hermione was turned was posted in 2011 - meaning that on a meta level, I was apparently being prophetic when I said it!

As far as I can tell, you carefully avoided specifying what the Patronus actually is, beyond "not an otter", and "not Nala", which is still quite ambiguous. I suppose I should be guessing. Given Galen's level of insecurity, I'm adding "not a wolf/werewolf" as a probable extra.

It is not. My current thinking is that its new form reflects the cure - though there is a temptation to use a phoenix . . .

And we are, of course, right back into misunderstandings and Galen being self-deprecating to a fault, the instant that we don't have telepathy.

Well, they're used to being able to shortcut things that way, and now it's gone; so on top of everything else, they're all off-kilter compared to how they usually deal with one another.

There are layers to that; it's overly considerate/insulting in that way we're used to, but it's also looking for emotional security. Galen is seeking certainty on something he has undoubtedly thought about and probably dreaded (then felt self-hatred for dreading, because curing vampirism is Good for Hermione, and fearing the implications of that is therefore Wrong). I'd imagine he doesn't have quite as much trouble with insecurity these days, but "Everything's going to change now" is pretty ominous.

It's interesting because it's something that looks unselfish and over-the-top considerate, but in some ways isn't. Honestly though, I sympathize with it more because it's a bit selfish, especially some of the rough delivery. He's had time to consider what the "right" stance is, but it's still raw and scary

It is, and you aren't wrong, on multiple fronts . . .

To a very real extent, Hermione's been forcibly "on pause" for the last great chunk of her life. It doesn't show so much around them, given how slowly they age (to say nothing of how Hermione, as I once noted, reflects Emma Watson at 19 rather than her canonical age at the time), but her little sister is biologically older than she is, by half a decade. She's spent the last decade being forced to observe the world around her at best and outright hide from it at worst, and it's cost her a number of opportunities over the years. And by nature, Hermione wants to achieve things - and now, she can. And for all his faults, Galen doesn't want her holding herself back out of habit, hesitating to reach for something she wants because she's used to things as they are, or simply because she thinks he or they won't take it well . . .

(Even if he's more than a little terrified about where those explorations might take her - they have been happy, more or less.)


Essentially, this reopens a lot of old insecurities, yes; at the same time, they need to be re-examined. To a large extent, everything does, because this relationship now involves two living women rather than Hermione being forced to keep to the shadows. It's part of why he started by noting that Takara needed to be involved in this discussion if it was going to be anything other than hypothetical. Even something as basic as a shower schedule is suddenly much more complicated now, never mind the larger issues . . .

Also, re-checking, Galen cited Power Struggles?! I was wondering when Hermione said that,context makes that so much worse. Hermione's right to be mad about that; that's a ton of unnecessary pain to be digging up here to make that point.

Yes it is, and yes, she absolutely should - though as noted, it wasn't said to hurt her, merely to remind her that he hasn't forgotten (which, also as noted, makes it worse in some ways). He's always tried to be mindful of her freedoms, because of that, and he's still trying.

I'm not totally familiar with extended canon, so I don't have a guess for what this is. Hmmmm.

As I said, like the unicorn blood, it's canon-derived, but not supported, so even if I told you (without actually writing it out), it might not make sense. It's one of the reasons why this idea is nagging at me (also elements like The Cursed Child play, and more esoteric things like The Calamity - and, it has to be admitted, F/GO. After all, does the Trinity setting not sound like a Singularity/Lostbelt . . .? )

I mean, it definitely provided a push (in Takara's words), but I'm not sure I'd say only worked. Only came about, sure, arguable. I don't see their relationship as intrinsically unstable without that necessity binding them, unless we have some long-running and well-concealed resentments. Galen's concern about independence is the most relevant; people do reconsider things when their options open up.

Again, you're not wrong, and that's where this came from: he wants her to do that, and is simultaneously afraid of what her conclusions might be. And Hermione is back to being her fully-hormonal Sixth Year self; it is having an effect on her thinking and reactions, if not a majority influence. Still, in some ways she's very much a raw nerve, right now - so yeah, they are back to square one, to some degree . . . But in their defence, it's been about three days, so far.

[Arbitrarity]

It is not. My current thinking is that its new form reflects the cure - though there is a temptation to use a phoenix . . .
[...]
As I said, like the unicorn blood, it's canon-derived, but not supported, so even if I told you (without actually writing it out), it might not make sense. It's one of the reasons why this idea is nagging at me (also elements like The Cursed Child play, and more esoteric things like The Calamity - and, it has to be admitted, F/GO.

After all, does the Trinity setting not sound like a Singularity/Lostbelt . . .?

So my hints are that this ended on Christmas Eve, which is established to have significant magical properties; while that brings the Resurrection Stone to mind, I don't think that quite fits. "reflects the cure" implies some sort of animal/creature is relevant, and not a phoenix. You could be extending something from a unicorn, which bookends with that causing the curse, but I'm not quite sure how any of their other properties would help. Because you said "canon-derived" that also makes rituals feel less-likely; most there aren't many of them in actual canon.
A canon-supportable option might be something like the "Bone of the father" etc potion, but that seems to lack much in the way of animal elements, and is reportedly pretty dark. Mandrake Draught is a relevant, less-evil potion that might apply, but seems almost too obvious and mundane; I'd think they would have considered that much earlier. From some other fanon, I was going to guess Hufflepuff's cup (with a badger), but it's destroyed. You've done theories with the Philosopher's Stone before, and since it's supposed to produce a "panacea", that's not totally out of the question, but we've established it as fairly risky, at least. Since this is a new idea, that also feels wrong.

Time hacks, since you mention Cursed Child, the Calamity, AND F/GO, sorta fit, but the level of paradox involved would be insane. You could do alternate timeline shenanigans with the Kaleidostick, but I'm not sure how you'd persist that beyond the memory thing, and it's much less likely to be "canon-supported". Both seem much more dangerous than anything I've previously considered, and I'm not sure they would naturally result in her being the same physical age... well, not impossible.
A low-paradox but ludicrous plan could be... send Vampire!Hermione back in time to Halloween, use the Kaleidostick or similar to give her memories to Human!Hermione, wipe Vampire!Hermione's memories to that point, send Human!Hermione forward. Yes, this does trap Vampire!Hermione in an infinite loop, but she's not aware of it, it's mostly self consistent, and she is immortal. Since vampire age is apparently a factor in their power, this isn't totally stable, but it's close enough the universe might paper it over.

You can see why I shouldn't go full theorizing, this is just Epileptic Trees at this point.

After all, does the Trinity setting not sound like a Singularity/Lostbelt . . .?

Singularity, true. Lostbelts are pruned because of humanity stagnating; I'm not sure things are that off-course.

She's spent the last decade being forced to observe the world around her at best and outright hide from it at worst, and it's cost her a number of opportunities over the years. And by nature, Hermione wants to achieve things - and now, she can.

Excellent phrasing. That really puts the impact of those limits into perspective. She's happy, but she could be more now; it's just not clear how without exploring.

To a large extent, everything does, because this relationship now involves two living women rather than Hermione being forced to keep to the shadows. It's part of why he started by noting that Takara needed to be involved in this discussion if it was going to be anything other than hypothetical.

I thought the power dynamic there seemed mostly equitable, but yeah, some of those fundamental facts changing does require explicitly re-evaluating, talking about possibilities that weren't before, at the very least. I recall a lot of talk about children in The Blood, for example. I'm pretty optimistic about the outcome.

And Hermione is back to being her fully-hormonal Sixth Year self; it is having an effect on her thinking and reactions, if not a majority influence.

Now I'm sort of wondering if her brain continued to mature as she aged as a vampire, unless my time-travel theory is correct.

[Kieran]

So my hints are that this ended on Christmas Eve, which is established to have significant magical properties; while that brings the Resurrection Stone to mind, I don't think that quite fits. "reflects the cure" implies some sort of animal/creature is relevant, and not a phoenix. You could be extending something from a unicorn, which bookends with that causing the curse, but I'm not quite sure how any of their other properties would help. Because you said "canon-derived" that also makes rituals feel less-likely; most there aren't many of them in actual canon.
A canon-supportable option might be something like the "Bone of the father" etc potion, but that seems to lack much in the way of animal elements, and is reportedly pretty dark. Mandrake Draught is a relevant, less-evil potion that might apply, but seems almost too obvious and mundane; I'd think they would have considered that much earlier. From some other fanon, I was going to guess Hufflepuff's cup (with a badger), but it's destroyed. You've done theories with the Philosopher's Stone before, and since it's supposed to produce a "panacea", that's not totally out of the question, but we've established it as fairly risky, at least. Since this is a new idea, that also feels wrong.

Time hacks, since you mention Cursed Child, the Calamity, AND F/GO, sorta fit, but the level of paradox involved would be insane. You could do alternate timeline shenanigans with the Kaleidostick, but I'm not sure how you'd persist that beyond the memory thing, and it's much less likely to be "canon-supported". Both seem much more dangerous than anything I've previously considered, and I'm not sure they would naturally result in her being the same physical age... well, not impossible.
A low-paradox but ludicrous plan could be... send Vampire!Hermione back in time to Halloween, use the Kaleidostick or similar to give her memories to Human!Hermione, wipe Vampire!Hermione's memories to that point, send Human!Hermione forward. Yes, this does trap Vampire!Hermione in an infinite loop, but she's not aware of it, it's mostly self consistent, and she is immortal. Since vampire age is apparently a factor in their power, this isn't totally stable, but it's close enough the universe might paper it over.

You can see why I shouldn't go full theorizing, this is just Epileptic Trees at this point.

Yes, yes it is. I will tell you straight off that you don't have the necessary context for this (because if I do it in a snippet, that loses the impact if I write it out in full), so you're better off just saving your energy. A couple of interesting theories, though.

Speaking objectively, the Wizarding World has changed and expanded greatly in the decade or so since I finished Trinity - likewise, the world of TYPE-MOON (the latter perhaps even more than the former). Any sequel I write needs to take that into account; and as I've said in regards to other projects, as this is a TYPE-MOON fan forum, the franchise should be involved, or else I need to take it to another platform. It's just largely a question of working out how . . .

Singularity, true. Lostbelts are pruned because of humanity stagnating; I'm not sure things are that off-course.

Ah - is that the difference? I never found it clear. Thank you.

Excellent phrasing. That really puts the impact of those limits into perspective. She's happy, but she could be more now; it's just not clear how without exploring.

And I'm trying very hard to make this recognisably Hermione, rather than an "in-name-only" pet. This is the woman who canonically achieved the position of Minister for Magic by the time she was 40; by comparison with the British Prime Minister, she would be the youngest appointed in almost 215 years - and she did that while raising two children. You don't accomplish that without ambition, and a lot of hard work - all of which Hermione has never lacked or been afraid of, and this is true whether we're speaking of the canon version, or the Trinity one.

But on the other hand, our Hermione has suffered the disadvantage of being largely unable to act during daylight hours - certainly not for any extended periods. Obviously, this has savagely curtailed the kind of things she can do in terms of regular employment; short of "Astronomy teacher at Hogwarts" (which would be an absolute waste of her abilities even if the position wasn't already occupied), nothing obvious immediately comes to mind. And that's in addition to (comparatively) minor annoyances like being unable to handle Galleons without gloves, making sure that people see her eat and drink (and don't see her throw it up later), and so on.

Now obviously, her spouses' (and by extension, friends') support has counterbalanced that, to a degree; but she's still lived a largely restrictive life, compared to what it could (and in most people's, including Galen's, should) have been.

I thought the power dynamic there seemed mostly equitable,

And it is - they've had a decade to learn to balance things - but restarting from scratch, in many ways, means relearning how.

but yeah, some of those fundamental facts changing does require explicitly re-evaluating, talking about possibilities that weren't before, at the very least. I recall a lot of talk about children in The Blood, for example. I'm pretty optimistic about the outcome.

As am I, oddly - and I can guarantee you that the parents are thrilled.

Now I'm sort of wondering if her brain continued to mature as she aged as a vampire, unless my time-travel theory is correct.

No - she's remained a seventeen-year-old the entire time. Of course, it is Hermione, and she is an Occlumens, so her self-control and maturity level are such that it doesn't really show (enabling her to pass as being in her mid-twenties, when necessary), particularly as her experience level remains on par with everyone else's. Still, as noted during their first attempts at physical intimacy, a lot of the biochemical reactions Hermione got as a vampire were muted, if they occurred at all - part of the "half life" she was cursed with. Now, that layer of insulation has been removed - and while they've spent the last few days confirming that it's done wonders for her sex life, there are other aspects to it.

. . . As I said, she's something of a raw nerve, at the moment - and I chose the comparison deliberately.

[Xamusel]

Are you going to update this thread next with a chapter? Or is the next thread to update the current Grail Works story?

[Kieran]

Are you going to update this thread next with a chapter? Or is the next thread to update the current Grail Works story?

Since you asked . . .








12 Grimmauld Place
London, England
December 27, 2006






“If you keep making that face,” Takara teased gently, “it’s going to stick that way.”

Hermione glanced up from her chair, where she’d settled with Crookshanks on her lap (not brooding as she would no doubt insist—pondering, perhaps intently, but not brooding). Contrary to the Japanese witch’s affectionate chiding, her scowl deepened as the older witch’s lips turned into an outright frown, before she visibly realised who it was and made an effort to soften her expression.

“Spouting motherly platitudes already?” Hermione asked lightly, with a tentative smile on her face. “You do realise that Elise isn’t even walking yet, don’t you . . .?”

Takara snorted, though her eyes were laughing. “Is Hermione Granger, of all people, trying to lecture me about preparing for things in advance . . .?”

The wince was both brief and tiny; barely a tremor in her cheekbones, and easily overlooked if it was seen at all—but Hermione’s eyes had always been her weak point. While saying they were similar to a dog’s wasn’t a flattering comparison, they were so deep and soulful that Takara had struggled for years to find a more accurate one. And they proved to be so again, because the pain, while equally brief in its appearance there as elsewhere, was much more clearly visible in them.

Inwardly, Takara nodded to herself at the confirmation of her suspicions.

“Anyways,” she said casually, “your face might not freeze that way, but it will give you wrinkles—and it’d be a shame to have you prematurely age yourself after all it took to make you start aging again in the first place . . .”

At the answering silence, Takara sighed, learning against the doorframe and crossing her arms before she continued, “. . . All right, then—the direct approach. What did he do, Hermione?”

Hermione raised an eyebrow imperiously. “He didn’t tell you. What a surprise.”

Her drawl would’ve done credit to Severus Snape.

“I didn’t ask,” Takara corrected her. “He’s a masterful liar, but he hides guilt as well as you do; one look and I was running to Elise. She’s napping, so I came looking for you . . . And here you are with that look you always get that says your tail should be lashing.”

Her lips quirked at a thought, and she felt compelled to add, “Even before you ever had one.”

Hermione’s answering glare all but yelled that she didn’t see the humour in her observation.

And that, Takara thought, was the problem of dealing with Hermione: she combined the worst of both of them when it came to her temper. She bottled it up, shut herself away from acknowledging the source of her ire even existed, as much as she could. When she had to interact with whoever had set her off, Hermione restricted herself to cold, cutting (and generally quite vicious) remarks, until she’d finally reached whatever the boiling point was for her current issue. And the trick lay in figuring out where that was, because if Hermione hit it . . .

Well, then came the shouting, and sometimes, violence—as the late Draco Malfoy could’ve attested (and Galen, admittedly; Takara could recall more than one instance of his being manhandled by an enraged Hermione when they were teenagers).

Moving from the doorway, she stepped forward to crouch down in front of the other witch.

“Chérie,” she tried quietly, “what did he do?”

And Hermione told her.

Most people, when reaching for descriptors about her, didn’t think of Takara Aozaki as “smart.” This was a mistake, but an understandable one. Her partners in school had been a reincarnated former Heroic Spirit with the experience of a seasoned mercenary, and an overly imaginative role-player with a storehouse of trivia and flashes of cunning that had made him dangerously unpredictable. The latter was now her husband, and her wife had been touted, with very little if any hyperbole, as the brightest witch of her age—perhaps even the age. Given that, and her own preference for action over thought, it was easy to dismiss her as “a dumb jock” (albeit an unusually pretty—and terrifyingly lethal—one) . . .

But.

But Takara had been raised in Japanese society, including its education system, with all its expectations of high achievement. And in many ways, she’d had even greater expectations than most; being not purely Japanese, as well as pretty and tomboyish, she’d stood out in a number of ways her birth culture traditionally disapproved of. And as the saying went, “The nail that sticks out gets pounded down.” Maintaining good grades had been one way that she could conform, and it provided her some leeway over the places where she was unwilling (or flat-out unable) to.

(And that had applied to more than just school—Ciel Aozaki was in no way Chinese, but she could “tiger mom” with the best of them.)

Even in her present incarnation, none of that had really changed. If anything, she’d simply continued the trend by becoming world-renowned before she was even out of Healer training by curing lycanthropy, a disease that had plagued humanity for thousands of years. Since then, she’d become head of the Alchemy Room—the research and development wing of St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies—and, among other things, had a porphyria cure, which she could now disseminate since Hermione was no longer a vampire. They’d have to explain the changes in her to the wider world somehow, after all . . .

In any case, no one who wasn’t “smart” (to put it mildly), could have likely accomplished even half of what Takara had—and all long before her thirtieth birthday. And Takara had known the witch before her for nearly twenty years, and the wizard being railed against for longer still. As such, she was easily able to piece together the reasoning behind it all.

And it was as depressing as it was infuriating.

“. . . As if I was just waiting for an excuse to leave!” Hermione finished. She wasn’t quite in tears, but Takara expected it was because she was, for the moment, cried out; her face definitely suggested it. “How he could he think that for even an instant . . .!”

“Because with one millstone removed from around your neck, it made sense to him to try to remove the other?” the Japanese witch offered carefully.

Takara flinched when Hermione fixed her with a full glare. Absent the red which had helped tint her irises to look hazel for so long, the amber infused into their original light brown colour was very visible when she was angry. That, combined with the wavy curls that framed her face, made Hermione look quite leonine when she was furious, without ever bringing her Animagus form into play—and it deliberately brought to mind the phrase, “Brilliant, but scary.”

Nevertheless, when Hermione opened her mouth to retort, Takara cut her off.

“I’ve never needed to be a Legilimens to know that he’s always felt guilty about the element of coercion that started this relationship, Hermione. And even leaving aside his fundamental belief in your right to choose, now that things are back to ‘normal,’ it shouldn’t surprise you that old doubts and fears are rearing their ugly heads. You’re finally capable of picking up your life where you left off—which means that he needs to confront the things he left behind, as well.” Takara sighed. “And so do I.”

Hermione went still at that pronouncement, and the difference in her nature was visibly apparent in her posture. As a vampire, she’d had a corpse-like emptiness in her lack of motion, as might be expected. Lacking a naturally beating heart, or the need to breathe, to say nothing of the micromovements of living muscles and nerves, she’d been as inanimate as a mannequin, when needed. But now, she froze in the manner of a startled prey animal; small tremors in her limbs, her chest moving in an inhalation but failing to exhale, as if she was afraid to breathe, her eyes wide and face pale.

“. . . What do you mean?” the British witch asked at last.

“I mean answering questions like, ‘What’s the best way to redo the food budget in order to feed all three of us?’” Takara answered. “‘How do we adjust our sleeping arrangements, now that all of us move in our sleep, and can be easily woken from it?’” After a beat, she added, “Or like, ‘Now that you can, are you going to want to try and nurse Elise before she’s weaned? And how do I feel about that . . .?’”

“WHAT?!” Hermione shrieked, as she went from ghostly white to cherry red seemingly in the space of heartbeats.

“That’s my point, Hermione,” Takara said, trying very hard to keep her voice level and her expression clear. “Things that ranged from non-issues to nonsensical to consider when you were a vampire are now actually legitimate questions—”

“I have serious concerns about your definition of ‘legitimate,’ Takara,” Hermione deadpanned.

“Because you’re now fully capable of contributing to, and receiving full benefits from, our marriage,” Takara finished. “It is a lot to take in—and if I’m having this much trouble, given the habit you both have of overthinking things . . .”

Hermione bit her lower lip, her eyes narrowed in that “thinking furiously” expression that was so classically her, Takara had to resist the urge to add “Case in point.” As it was, she suspected Hermione knew that she was thinking it, because the British witch scowled briefly, before she sighed.

“I’ll agree with that,” she admitted finally. “It’s part of why I asked him—I wanted reassurance . . .” Her face darkened. “And he jumped straight to my abandoning you and brought up that night to support his argument! Of all the—!”

Takara winced. While her own memories of that particular incident had been dulled where the element of fear was concerned as well (with her own permission; she’d run outside checks to be sure), she was well-aware that, by design, Hermione’s own never had been. It ranked in the British witch’s “Top 5 Worst Moments of My Life” list—and ranked high on it. Still, from the way Hermione had described him using it, Takara thought she could make a pretty good guess as to why he had . . .

“He shouldn’t have brought it up,” Takara interrupted, “and the way he did was very poorly handled—and I will be having words with him about it, later . . . But I expect that he was attempting to reassure you that he would understand if you decided to leave, later, rather than forcing yourself to try and make things work out of sheer stubbornness, or pure obligation, when they clearly weren’t. You know how he thinks, Hermione . . .

“Or at least, you used to,” she continued softly. “And that’s half the problem, isn’t it? That you don’t just know, anymore.”

Hermione glanced down, then drew in a breath.

“. . . It’s not like I’m totally unused to not having the bond in place,” she admitted. “But it was active when I changed . . . And now, I reach for him, and he’s not there—and there’s no instinct to reacquire it. I open my mouth, and my fangs don’t come out; I can’t hear his heartbeat unless I put my ear to his chest, I don’t smell his blood underneath his skin . . . It’s like I’ve suddenly been blinded, or lost a limb.” She glanced at Takara, blushing, “Which is hypocritical of me, when all I’ve wanted for years was to be human again, and you’ve more than managed well enough without blood-based Legilimency, but—”

“But you’re suddenly dealing with the full range of a seventeen-year-old witch’s hormones again,” Takara finished. “And now that the euphoria is wearing off, you’re starting to question the possibilities, and panic, because you can see so many ways that things can go wrong . . . And your first and best support system is, in some very real ways, gone—and in others, no help at all, because he’s panicking, too.”

“It sounds so ridiculous when you say it out loud,” Hermione groaned, burying her face in her hands. “How on earth do you put up with us, Takara?”

“How long have we been married, again?” she riposted tartly, before sighing and embracing her wife in a hug.

“Things are going to be different, but we will work all this out, Hermione,” Takara murmured in her ear. “The three of us together, like always.”

She could actually feel the other witch’s blush against her cheek, before Hermione muttered, sotto voce, “Galen did preface things by saying we ought to wait for you before any serious discussions . . .”

“See?” Takara said cheerfully. “He can be taught.”

Hermione chuckled. “I suppose so.”

She smiled. “Thank you, Takara—I feel much better now.”

“Good,” Takara said, smiling in return, before pointing out, “. . .You never did answer my question, though.”

Hermione blinked. “Which one?”

“Do you want to try nursing Elise . . .?”

Hermione’s answering shriek of “TAKARA!” hit ranges that caused Crookshanks to yowl in pain.

[Xamusel]

LOL!! XD That works like a charm.

[Kieran]

LOL!! XD That works like a charm.

Sorry it took so long - I had a bit of trouble making sure that Takara didn't just sound like another mouth for Galen or Hermione, because she is her own person; at the same time, she's undoubtedly been influenced by them, just the same. Keeping her still that mix of tomboy and lady, and minding the self-reflection she went through "in series" was tricky. And to some extent, I justified it to myself partly because her Legilimency tricks are a limited series of techniques, rather than the broad range of abilities that Hermione and Galen have access to; she's had to learn to read them "the hard way," as Hermione put it. I hope it makes sense . . .

There were also arguments I struggled to put in, but ultimately cut from the discussion; namely, whether or not this Hermione would want the Minister's job. Because, as noted earlier, Hermione's a natural achiever, and at heart, she's a crusader - and the best place to do the most good for the most people is the top job. In that case, her domestic arrangements are a weapon to be used against her ("You know perfectly well that we're legitimate by special dispensation, Hermione, but hardly conventional."), and it would be better for her career to be on her own - i.e., another reason to leave.

(And yes, said dispensation would require a chapter/story of its own . . .)

And then, of course, the question of how much of that is Galen and/or Takara letting what they know of canon influence their thinking - I had Hermione retorting that "If that's the case, I'd best hurry on - I need to conceive more or less immediately, if Rose Weasley is going to be born on schedule . . ."

(I can outright picture her rolling her eyes as she says it, too.)

As you can see, if I wanted to turn this into a full-blown argument, it's not hard - and I suspect at least some of this would come up in a full-on discussion between the three - but I didn't see it adding anything to the immediate scene. But it took some time to come to those conclusions, hence the delay. Sorry.

[Arbitrarity]

Flashbacks to The Tournament this time, since that certainly had the most intense moments like this. Takara is so much better at defusing suggestive statements than Galen is. Social intelligence at play.
That tangent for contrast on Takara's intelligence meanders a bit more than usual; the tangent goes on two more recursive contrasting layers of tangent, which makes it a bit hard to follow back to the original point. Might just be the Ciel part that's pushing it over my room for tracking context.

I was approximately half-way though saying "milk doesn't work that way!" when I realized it was probably just for the experience, and that is a social thing people sometimes do. Presumably it would have been really depressing to try previously, in several ways.

EDIT:

And to some extent, I justified it to myself partly because her Legilimency tricks are a limited series of techniques, rather than the broad range of abilities that Hermione and Galen have access to; she's had to learn to read them "the hard way," as Hermione put it. I hope it makes sense . . .

It makes sense that she'd be much less dependent on it than Hermione/Galen would have been, and be less affected by the lack. Hermione's description of Legilimency as an extra sense is exactly what I expected, and Galen could reliably benefit from that from the other side of interactions.

[Kieran]

Flashbacks to The Tournament this time, since that certainly had the most intense moments like this.

Well, as noted, there's some backsliding involved here - on more than one front, to be fair.

Takara is so much better at defusing suggestive statements than Galen is. Social intelligence at play.

Exactly - and Hermione has some of the same issues, as well.

That tangent for contrast on Takara's intelligence meanders a bit more than usual; the tangent goes on two more recursive contrasting layers of tangent, which makes it a bit hard to follow back to the original point. Might just be the Ciel part that's pushing it over my room for tracking context.

Sorry - bad habit. Still, I worried that Takara might seem overshadowed, intelligence-wise, by her spouses (and in many ways, in fairness, she is), so I thought laying out the context was important.

I was approximately half-way though saying "milk doesn't work that way!" when I realized it was probably just for the experience, and that is a social thing people sometimes do. Presumably it would have been really depressing to try previously, in several ways.

For clarity's sake:

Open talk about breastfeeding - spoilered for sensibilties

Takara has been nursing, and she pumps so that Galen can pitch in with the bottle where necessary (and to get some of the "bonding experience" it imparts). Hermione has hitherto been limited to bottle-feeding, as well - it was one of the few flaws in her "human disguise," that she couldn't lactate - but now the option to go au naturel, as it were, exists.

And while's she's probably teasing, there's likely an element of seriousness in Takara bringing it up, nonetheless; it's a boundary they'd never had to draw, or even thought they'd have to - but it does fall under, "How far is too far, when it comes to sharing child-rearing . . .?"

(Not that she'll bring it up right this moment, of course - she's just gotten Hermione calmed down . . .)

[Arbitrarity]

Sorry - bad habit. Still, I worried that Takara might seem overshadowed, intelligence-wise, by her spouses (and in many ways, in fairness, she is), so I thought laying out the context was important.

I'm pretty used to the tangents, they're fun, they just usually don't run away with you quite that far.

Open talk about breastfeeding - spoilered for sensibilties

Takara has been nursing, and she pumps so that Galen can pitch in with the bottle where necessary (and to get some of the "bonding experience" it imparts). Hermione has hitherto been limited to bottle-feeding, as well - it was one of the few flaws in her "human disguise," that she couldn't lactate - but now the option to go au naturel, as it were, exists.

same

My understanding is that actual lactation without having been pregnant is uncommon, for hormonal reasons, and would be considered of medical concern. While it's possible to deliberately induce with drugs or other interventions, it takes at least some effort. I suppose since it's possible to induce (and Takara as a Healer presumably knows how), it's an option if they really want to, and thus a valid option for teasing.
Heck, there's probably a potion for it, given the setting, so I'm probably over-thinking it.

[Kieran]

I'm pretty used to the tangents, they're fun, they just usually don't run away with you quite that far.

Blame my trying to make sure, as I said, that she didn't sound exactly like Galen or Hermione, and trying to keep in mind her teenaged self versus her "current" accomplishments, because that would change her inner voice, too. I suspect, therefore, that it was as much to lay things out for myself as anything else.

same

My understanding is that actual lactation without having been pregnant is uncommon, for hormonal reasons, and would be considered of medical concern. While it's possible to deliberately induce with drugs or other interventions, it takes at least some effort. I suppose since it's possible to induce (and Takara as a Healer presumably knows how), it's an option if they really want to, and thus a valid option for teasing.
Heck, there's probably a potion for it, given the setting, so I'm probably over-thinking it.

Ahh . . . I'm just going to go with "Yes," here - magic has a solution, because I presume someone would've thought of it . . . Then again, according to Rowling, the Wand-Lighting Charm (good old "Lumos") wasn't invented until the eighteenth century, somehow.