A/N: This is an Alternate Universe story. It is canon through Book 6. Thank you for reading.

Improbable Felicity

Chapter 1

How We Come to Be Here

The prisoner signed the parchment before him in his spiky script and pushed it across the table, saying calmly, 'Is there anything else?'

The elderly woman sitting opposite him collected the parchment and slid it into the tartan-covered briefcase in her lap. She eyed the man speculatively for a moment, then removed a folded newspaper. 'The have passed the measure.' She laid the paper on the table where he could read it.

The prisoner's expression became guarded; one eyebrow rose steeply. 'You are aware, perhaps, that this news is of no interest to me?' He emphasised his indifference by pushing the newspaper back across the table with one long digit, never even glancing at the headline.

'Don't be stupid!' The Scots burr in her voice became more pronounced when she was discomposed.

Her companion crossed his arms across his narrow chest and stared at her stonily, the abrupt movement of his arms causing the heavy chain to clank loudly in the stillness of the dank, daunting room.

She seemed to cringe from the wordless reminder of his fettered state. In a voice of impatient irritation – which her companion recognised as a veritable coax – she snapped, 'Hestia Jones would be perfectly willing to do it – I've spoken with her about it myself.'

A barely perceptible shudder of distaste crossed his face. 'Absolutely not.'

'You can't be so obstinate!' the old woman snapped, clearly agitated. The faintest pleading coloured her tone. 'There aren't that many possibilities at our disposal!'

A sneer was her only answer; the prisoner appeared unsurprised to hear that there were few candidates for a presumably distasteful task with lasting consequences.

'I can see there is no point in attempting a civil discussion with you about this,' she said, standing and fastening her cloak.

'I am not famed for my civility,' he agreed with her, deadpan.

Her dark head, streaked liberally with grey, was bowed to her task, and her fingers could be seen to tremble with age as she fumbled with the clasp. His remark earned a snort from her. She said wryly, 'Your sense of humour is intact, at any rate.'

'I am entirely intact, I assure you.' The forbidden topic past, the prisoner appeared somewhat conciliatory.

The woman leant suddenly across the table and placed a veined hand upon his arm; the muscle leapt beneath her touch before he controlled himself. 'Please consider it,' she murmured.

He stood and turned his back to her, demonstrating his intractability in spite of his inability to walk away from the table to which he was chained. With a sigh of resignation, the woman withdrew, pointedly leaving the newspaper behind.

Hermione sat at the age-scarred wooden table in the kitchen at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, her cheek resting on her palm. She stared at the wall, absently twirling a lock of bushy brown hair about her finger. The Daily Prophet lay upon the table before her, a photograph of Rufus Scrimgeour gesticulating from the front page.

The door opened and Harry Potter entered, moving to join her. 'Morning,' he said, reaching for the box of cereal and bottle of milk in the middle of the table. 'No library today?'

Hermione glanced at the clock. 'Yes, my study group meets today, but not until ten.' She gestured at the paper. 'They're sending them home.'

Harry became very still, his eyes following her outflung hand to fall upon the newsprint. After a few breathless seconds, he grabbed the paper and began to read, his lips in a terse, angry line.

DARING NEW PROGRAM FOR AZKABAN INMATES

by RITA SKEETER

Ministry of Magic, London – The wizarding world was shocked Friday to learn that the Wizengamot has passed a new measure which will permit many convicted criminals to be released from Azkaban.

As detailed by this reporter in an earlier story, the Wizengamot has admitted the maintenance of Azkaban Prison to be a drain on Ministry resources. With the departure of the Dementors, members of Magical Law Enforcement have been detailed to guard the prisoners.

'Well, who wants to live on a rock in the North Sea?' one officer demanded. 'You try it for a while – see how your family likes it!'

With the discontinued use of the facility of Azkaban as a prison, eligible prisoners are being offered a strictly monitored probation program.

'Those prisoners who have qualifying family members to sponsor them will be permitted to live again in society,' stated Percy Weasley, Special Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic. 'There will be meetings with special Facilitators at specified intervals for each prisoner, to monitor their progress as they are reintegrated into the public. After a period of time, ranging from six months to two years, each prisoner will either be released from the parole program as a fully rehabilitated member of society, or they will remain subject to supervision for a period of time to be determined by an independent and impartial panel. Prisoners who violate the terms of their probation will be remanded into custody and removed to a prison upon the Continent.'

Harry tossed the paper from him, disgust on his face. 'Two lousy years they've served since the end of the war, and the Ministry is that eager to let them out?'

Hermione nodded. 'At least it will be fair for one prisoner.'

Harry poured milk into his bowl, some of it splashing onto the table top. 'Oh, please – don't start up with your defence of Snape, Hermione. I'm trying to eat.'

Hermione stood, carrying her bowl to the sink and setting it to washing with a flick of her wand. 'Aurors use Unforgiveables in the execution of their duties, Harry, and it's not always on Death Eaters! It is invariably unpleasant. I'm sure that Professor Snape didn't find it any less horrible when he used the Killing Curse on the headmaster – but it had to be done!'

Harry dropped his spoon into his cereal. 'You weren't there! You didn't see his face when he did it. He probably enjoyed it, the slimy bastard!'

Hermione whirled around angrily. 'I heard your testimony at the trial, Harry. You don't need to repeat it.'

He rose to his feet, his fingers flexing. 'I heard yours, too, Hermione! I heard you up there defending him! I don't care if there's evidence that Dumbledore ordered him to do it – he killed our friend. I can never forgive that.'

Hermione surveyed him soberly. 'The headmaster was dying – it was a kindness.'

'Euthanasia is still a crime in this country, whether you're Muggle or magical!' Harry shouted, gesturing wildly with his hands for emphasis. 'That bloody wanker murdered Professor Dumbledore without a second thought. Now he acts like he's sorry, but he's a damned Death Eater to the core, and you lot – you, the Order, the Wizengamot – seem to have forgotten all about that!' As if for emphasis, Harry shoved his chair with his foot and sent it skidding over the old stone floor.

Hermione bristled at this show of unrestrained temper. In a voice vibrating with anger she said, 'Snape gave his entire life to this war. He's been paying his debt to society since he was our age.' She moved past Harry to the door, her nose in the air, supremely disdainful of his outburst. 'I would let it go, if I were you.'

As the door closed behind her, she heard his outraged, 'Well, I won't!'

'Ginny!'

The redhead looked up, a smile breaking over her freckled countenance. Hermione wove her way through the crowd and slid into her seat. A passing waiter nodded when Ginny waved at him, indicating two more drinks.

'What are we having?' Hermione asked, reaching over to pluck the pineapple chunk from Ginny's nearly-empty glass.

'It's an Avada Colada,' Ginny responded, breaking into a peal of laughter at the look of indignation on Hermione's face.

'That's not funny!' Hermione said, before giving into Ginny's irrepressible mirth and smiling, as well. 'How was your week?' she asked when Ginny subsided.

'Not so bad – Fred hired someone to help with the books so that I'm able to concentrate more on marketing. We've planned three more branch stores – can you believe it? That will make a total of twelve!'

Hermione shook her head. 'It's amazing what you lot have done with a thousand pounds of start-up gold.'

Ginny's lips thinned and her brown eyes narrowed; Hermione kicked herself for mentioning Harry, even indirectly. The Boy-Who-Lived had stubbornly clung to his determination to remain detached from the Girl-He-Loved whilst the war had gone on. By the time it was over, Ginny had taken up again with her old flame, Dean Thomas. The relationship had not lasted, ending scarcely a month after the defeat of Voldemort, but an unreasonably jealous Harry had rejected Ginny's every overture in the last two years. Hermione had long ago learnt not to bring up either of them with the other. Although Ginny was determinedly single, and Harry was over his one-year stint of sowing wild oats in every available furrow, each still closed down at the mention of the other.

Grasping for a new subject, Hermione said, 'So, did you see the news?'

Ginny nodded. 'I suppose you're glad Snape will be released?'

'It's only fair!' Hermione said. 'It's too bad that the rest of them will benefit as well, though.' Shifting topic again, she said, 'How are your parents?'

Ginny shrugged, reaching up to accept the two drinks from the smiling waiter. 'Put these on my bill,' she said to him, turning away from his admiring gaze.

Hermione accepted her Avada Colada, a preposterously green concoction with a silly paper umbrella protruding from it. 'I think he fancies you,' she said mildly, watching the handsome young man move to the next table, still casting covert looks at Ginny.

'Mum is ecstatic to know that there will be two new Weasleys before long,' Ginny said, answering the question and ignoring the comment. 'Dad is thinking about standing for the Wizengamot,' she added.

'Your dad will be excellent for that!' Hermione said, her eyes lighting up. 'Please tell him I would be happy to help in any way I can if he decides to stand. If he succeeds, the Order will finally have a real voice in the Ministry.' She plucked her fruit-laden toothpick from the green liquid, letting the alcohol drip away before removing a cherry. 'Who's having new Weasleys?'

'Charlie and Penny are due in October, and Bill and Fleur are expecting at Christmas.'

An expression flitted quickly across Hermione's face before she said, 'That'll make three for Bill and Fleur, won't it?'

'Four,' Ginny said. 'One a year. Phlegm is like a French baby-making machine.'

Hermione did not answer, and after a moment, Ginny took her hand. 'I'm a stupid cow, Hermione – I'm sorry.'

Hermione shook her head, forcing a smile to her lips. 'Don't be thick! I'm happy for them, if they want a large family. More and more couples are waiting to have children, and loads of them decide to remain childless. Fleur and Bill are paying no mind to that, and they're just forging ahead with what seems right to them, going against the tide of popular opinion …'

Ginny seemed to hesitate a moment, then squeezed the hand she held. 'You've never told me what happened with those Muggle Healers you were going to see last autumn.'

Unconsciously, Hermione's free hand spread protectively over her abdomen.

At Harry's side, Hermione had stood her ground in that carefully planned last confrontation, until Antonin Dolohov had Apparated before her. His 'Expelliarmus!' had beaten her 'Protego!' by a fraction of a second, and then her wand had been in his hand.

'This is a special gift just for you, Mudblood,' he had said, levelling his wand at her. '

Fundo Maximus!'

The agony within Hermione's body had gone on and on. Her legs had folded, and her body had fallen, her bones seeming to melt within her flesh. A rush of sound had heralded a flash of green light, and a black-cloaked figure had scooped her up and Disapparated. The next moment, she had been thrust upon a litter in a blindingly lit room and a harsh voice had shouted, 'You! This girl was hit by the Dissolution Curse! Act NOW or she will die!'

The torture had seemed endless. Horrid, nasty potions had been forced down her throat by lime-green robed Healers who had worked tirelessly over her, regrowing the bones which had been dissolved and halting the disintegration of her internal organs with aggressive spellwork of their own. It had not been until the day before her release that a Healer had come to her late in the evening, after the supper trays had been removed, and in bracing tones had explained the hospital's only failure at completely regenerating Hermione's internal organs.

Gently disengaging her hand from Ginny's, Hermione pulled her book bag into her lap, rummaging in the side pocket. 'I thought I had some tissues here …'

Ginny thrust a soft, clean handkerchief into her hands and Hermione dipped her head, discreetly drying her cheeks, saying, 'I'm being stupid.'

'I think that probably means their Healers couldn't help, either?' Ginny maintained a level tone, watching her friend closely.

Hermione kept her eyes averted, her bushy hair swinging forward to cover her face; her head moved in an infinitesimal negative shake. After a moment, she blew her nose, tucked the handkerchief in her pocket, and straightened her shoulders. 'How's Ron?' she asked, her voice strained but determined.

Ginny's eyes closed for a moment, as one might do to avoid witnessing an approaching mid-air broom collision. 'He's fine. He's become as much of a Muggle technology-lover as Dad. We don't see him very often, but he answers his e-mails faithfully, so Fred and I manage to keep up with him.'

'And has he found a nice American witch to settle down with?' Hermione stared at the melting ice in her glass until she realised her friend had not answered her. 'Gin?' She looked up and saw the answer to her question in Ginny's face.

'Her name is Lola,' Ginny said hollowly. 'Her father owns a large interest in the company Ron works for.'

Her name is Lola. Hermione frowned, trying to make sense of Ginny's news. Ron was getting married. Her name is Lola.

Her shaking shoulders alarmed Ginny. 'Hermione, don't – he's not worth it, the stupid git!'

But Hermione wasn't crying – she was laughing. 'Her name was Lola!' she gasped.

'What?'

'She was a SHOWGIRL!'

Ginny watched the new tears flowing down her friend's cheeks. 'What are you on about?'

'It's a s-song,' Hermione hiccupped, 'my parents used to listen to it. A really, really silly song.' She wiped her streaming eyes. 'Oh, that's better. I needed a good laugh.' A hand signal caused the good-looking waiter to approach them, although he did so cautiously. 'Another round of Avada Coladas, please,' Hermione said. As the waiter turned to go, she added to Ginny, 'If we're going to talk about Ron and his Copacabana girl, I'm going to need much more alcohol.'

A/N: If you are unfamiliar with the song Hermione is referencing, go to You Tube and listen to "Copacabana" by Barry Manilow.