Chapter Text
Hermione popped out of the floo, landing in the The Burrow’s chaotic living room.
With all of their children living away from home, one would think the Weasley home would be cleaner than when all seven children were at home. That assumption was wrong.
Molly had seemingly focused all of her spare time into knitting. She had previously made ends meet with her owl-order business before (seven children was expensive), but with only hers and Arthur’s mouths to feed, she decided now was the time to essentially rake in the Galleons.
Last year, Molly apparently even earned enough money to go on a three-day cruise from Southampton with Hermione’s parents, which gave her a holiday and Arthur the chance to see how muggle ‘teck-no-logie’ worked.
(Hermione visited her parents soon after. Richard Granger thought it was hilarious and spent the entire time explaining all the different parts of the ship. Jean Granger told her daughter that she and Molly had comiserated their husbands’ eagerness by drinking several bottles of prosecco by the pool).
Hermione carefully navigated the various piles of fabric all over the living room (was that Acromantula silk?!), and made her way to the kitchen. It was spotless, with various cooking tools making some of Molly’s delicious food.
'Hermione, my dear, just how are you?' Molly had turned around, floating several cups of tea towards the kitchen table. 'Arthur will be with us shortly.'
'I’m fine Molly, just very, very confused,' Hermione said, as she sat at the kitchen table, and gracefully took a cup of tea.
Molly nodded. ‘I’m sorry that we never thought about explaining the nature of some of our celebrations with you. Honestly, I thought my son might have.’
Hermione blinked. ‘Molly, I love Ron, I really do, but he can honestly be so clueless.’
How Ron was a successful Auror was a mystery among their friends. She had carved runes of protection into Ron’s boots that probably saved his life more than he knew. His partner, Cho Chang, told Hermione that she had to once prevent Ron from arresting a Muggle garden gnome that he swore was very lifelike.
‘That is true, my dear. And we should have known that you would be more open than most Muggleborns, considering Harry and Draco, Luna and Ginny, and some of your other friends. We just thought anything beyond that might be too much.’
Arthur walked into the room that moment, with a slight smirk on his face. ‘But not too much for her parents…’ he thought.
Hermione asked the question, ‘So is what Ron said about a Bacchanalia really true?’
Molly thought for a second, then shook her head and said, ‘Honestly, I’m not sure what else to say, a Bacchanalia is pretty much a ritual orgy house party. It was common enough pre-Voldement that we did it for anything.’
‘Anything?’ Hermione asked, not really wanting to know the answer, but asking it anyways.
Molly nodded. ‘Blessing a new house? Hoping for children? Wanting some good luck between victory in battle? We did quite a bit of that in the Order of the Phoenix in the 60s and 70s.’ She looked wistfully at the thought.
Hermione was not wistful; she was, in fact, horrified at a bit of her worldview shattering. ‘Did you mean to say that Order was more like an orgy?!’
‘Oh yes, why do you think Harry’s godmother was Alice Longbottom and Neville’s was Lily Potter? They definitely bonded, if you know what I mean, at that one party that we hosted here in 1979! All of us ladies that were there got pregnant with essentially all of your classmates.’
Arthur quipped, ‘Remus once called it the Orgy of the Phoenix. Fawkes nearly plucked his eyeballs out for that.’
Hermione paled at the implication of some ‘fun’ between Lily and Alice and then squirmed as she realised that Ron was probably conceived at that same party. ‘The Bacchanalia boosts fertility?’
‘Yes, oh yes, that is one of the original reasons for the celebration. After all,’ Molly chuckled, ‘everytime the Order hosted a Bacchanalia, I found myself pregnant with another of my lovely children.’
Molly beamed at the thought. In contrast, Hermione was staring at her mother-in-law in horror. Molly continued, ‘Powerful bonds come from ritual sex. We were surprised to learn from Severus that the Death Eaters, for all their spouting of wizard culture, never really partook.’
Arthur nodded, ‘As a runesmith, you should really appreciate it Hermione. I once spoke to Dumbledore, and we speculated that the power Harry had that Voldement didn’t was probably Lily doing a blood runes ritual fuelled by a threesome between her, James Potter and Sirius Black. All types of blood can be protective, if you know what I mean,’ Arthur winked.
Hermione did not appreciate that wink. She knew immediately what her father-in-law was implying and went green. That was not the image she wanted of Lily Potter. She wondered if Sirius had ever told Harry that he had sealed the godfather deal that way.
‘And can you imagine anyone having sex with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? No ritual protection for him,’ Arthur finished, wagging his finger. Hermione gagged at that, then recovered.
‘To be honest, I’m not that comfortable with my friends,’ Hermione added. ‘And I don’t know what Harry needs me for. I’m sure Draco has everything sorted.’
Molly and Arthur shared a look and nodded. ‘I thought you might say that, I think you should go to Harry and see what he is asking for, and keep an open mind,’ Molly said, before taking out a seemingly blank piece of parchment.
Arthur continued, ‘And I think I might know what Harry and Draco what might ask of you, Hermione. This is the invite we sent out in in 1971, one of the first Order Bacchanalia invites.’ He held up the paper and spoke, ‘Password: Lucius Malfoy has a tiny dick.’
Molly interjected, ‘He really did. Andromeda saw it once before she ran away with Ted.’
Hermione snorted and then saw beautiful text flow out, like the Marauder’s Map unveiling itself. She could read the text of the invitation in full, detailing the events of the night, the rules and then she saw it, where her in-laws’ signatures were added. ‘Oh! It’s a contract!’
‘Yes, all Bacchanalia invites are contracts and they are binding for the night. And as you can see on the back,’ Arthur said, as he turned the sheet over. The back of the parchment was covered in lines of dazzling, written silver runes. ‘An invite will be powered by a powerful array of runes, creating a more powerful version of a Protean Charm.’
Hermione understood and said, ‘And the DA used a contract pretty effectively. Of course Harry would remember that and knew I would take it seriously.’
Marietta Edgecomb was still afraid of Hermione to this day; Hermione had, in fact, uncursed her after the Battle of Hogwarts, but there was still a faint scar. Cho told her that Marietta was considering Muggle plastic surgery, scolding Hermione slightly at the time. Still whenever Hermione flooed to the Ministry of Magic, Marietta would flinch as she walked past.
‘We all know what you’re capable of, and the old Bacchanalia rune-writers are rare now. Who knows, you might start yet another line of business!’ Arthur exclaimed. Hermione did not want a part-time job as a party planner, Pansy bitched enough about her job.
Molly gave the parchment to Hermione and said, ‘I think you should keep it and study it, it might be useful for the Harry’s party. Remember the password.’
Hermione accepted the parchment gracefully, though rolled her eyes at Molly’s remarks. ‘Thank you so much. I’ll think over it. And I feel like my parents might have some encouraging words. I’m meeting them for our weekly afternoon tea later today.’
Hermione hugged them both and was soon off through the floo.
~~~~~
Molly smiled up at her handsome and sexy husband. But then she suddenly frowned. ‘Arthur, I think you might need to warn the Grangers.’
Arthur paled and said, ‘Oh, oh yes.’ He pulled out his wand (not that one) and cast, ‘EXPECTO PATRONUM.’ His weasel popped out of his wand (not like that) and Arthur spoke.
‘Go the Richard and Jean Granger and repeat the following message, ‘We know that you get the Prophet and probably saw today’s front page. We’ve just had to explain to Hermione what a Bacchanalia is. I think it’s time to come clean…’