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Starting New Traditions

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Starting New Traditions

For the first time in three generations, Lestrange Park had an owner who cared to honour the old ways.

Hermione Lestrange moved through the library, ignoring her pestering husband. She was about to step up on the ladder when a strong pair of arms wrapped themselves around her waist.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Rabastan said, pressing a kiss to his wife’s neck.

She huffed, trying to squirm out of his embrace. “I’m trying to find a book on Beltane.”

“Yes, but you’re not stepping on that ladder in your condition,” Rabastan said, his voice firm.

“I’m pregnant, not disabled,” Hermione retorted, turning around so she could face him. Smiling at the concern in his dark brown eyes, she leaned up and kissed him. “I appreciate your concern, though, love.”

He grumbled something under his breath.

“What?” she snapped. “I don’t know why you’re not being supportive. Beltane is a really big tradition.”

“But we haven’t celebrated Beltane in ages. Mother never had any interest in it, and neither did my Grandmother.”

“Yes, well, this Madame Lestrange is going to change that.”

Rabastan shook his head at his wife’s stubbornness.

“Listen, everyone else is participating. The Malfoys, the Weasleys, the Potters… why can’t we?” She took his hands, holding them in her own. “Rab, please, this is important to me.”

He looked at her before sighing. “I just don’t understand why.”

Taking his hand, the two of them sat down on the couch. “Listen, love, I know I’m Muggleborn—”

“What does that have to do with anything?” he snapped. “Hermione, you know I don’t care about your blood status.”

Hermione gave him a stern look. “If you would let me finish.”

“Sorry. I’m listening,” he apologized, giving his wife his full attention.

“I’m a Muggleborn so I don’t know much about the old ways, like Beltane or Samhain, but I want to. Can’t you see, Rabastan? This is important to me because it’s a chance for me to learn about my own heritage. I have the chance to learn something new. Why would you deny me that?” She rubbed her belly, giving him a pleading look.

Rabastan looked at her, an adoring expression on his face. “Hermione, I love you. You know that, don’t you?”

“Of course I do, Rab,” Hermione responded, giving him a smile.

“I would never deny you a chance of learning,” Rabastan continued. “All right, I promise I’ll be more helpful with all this Beltane stuff.”

“Really?” Hermione asked, her eyes wide. She clapped her hands together eagerly when he nodded. “Oh, we can decorate the entire house with yellow May flowers. Oh, I can even put them in my hair.”

“And I’m sure you’ll look like a goddess,” Rabastan said. He leant forward and brushed his lips against hers.

Hermione stood and began pacing. “Do you think if we decorated our May bush just right, the spirits would come visit?”

Rabastan shot her a funny look. “What spirits?”

“Spirits, fairies, aos sí, fays?”

He shot her another look.

She tilted her head. “You’ve never heard of fairies?”

“Do fairies even exist?” Rabastan retorted.

“Of course they do!” Hermione said. “We live in a magical world, Rabastan, with goblins and giants and pixies. Why wouldn’t fairies exist too?”

“Touché,” he responded, getting up from the couch. “Why don’t I contact Lucius and ask him if he’ll be organizing the Beltane fire?”

Hermione gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “That sounds wonderful, darling. I’ll gather some flowers, maybe some primrose and marigolds to cover the doorways and windows.”

“I’ll see you later, then,” Rabastan said, watching as his wife bustled off down the corridor to speak with the gardener. He shook his head, silently musing at the wonders of his wife.

As long as it made his very pregnant wife happy, he could see no reason not to celebrate Beltane.