Disclaimer:
Neville, his Gran, and the Daily Prophet do not belong to me.
Author's
Notes: Many thanks to Summercloud for betaing.
This was inspired by a drabble I wrote about my grandmother
last year.Summary:
Neville discovers that his Gran is different when seen in the light
of the dawn.
Neville was sitting at the kitchen table, a cup of tepid tea at his elbow, reading an article about the potential uses of magical sporks in a two day old copy of the Daily Prophet. The sun was just now peeking up through the tall windows over the sink on the south side of the kitchen warming his back though it was still just past five in the morning. He didn't think he'd ever been awake this early before; certainly he'd never been up before Gran, but her door had still been shut when he had crept down to the kitchen just before dawn.
Now, half an hour later, footsteps and the rustling of fabric in the hall alerted him that Gran had finally risen. Neville grinned and hid behind the paper, imagining the shocked look on her face when she entered to find him already awake. He certainly wouldn't get yelled at for lazing about in bed this morning. He peeked over the edge of the paper as he heard the steps enter the kitchen, prepared to see Gran in her usual old-fashioned green dress, hair pulled back into a neat bun and wearing her usual stern expression.
"Good morning Neville."
The paper dropped to the table, sections fluttering out across the floor of the kitchen and under the table. What he saw could not have been his Gran, though they did look remarkably similar. The woman who entered the kitchen and greeted him with an unsurprised, though slightly pleased, 'good morning' was regal and benevolent. She wore a bathrobe made of a pale purple quilted fabric with just enough sheen to make it look fancy and ornate designs in pale blue. The collar was high, setting off her pale skin and salt-and-pepper hair, which fell in smooth waves down her back. The skirt of the robe was long and stiff, just brushing the floor and making her appear to glide as she walked across the floor towards the kettle hanging over the fire. With the early morning sun streaming through the kitchen window lighting the air around her with sparkling dust motes, her bathrobe whispering across the floor like the most elegant robes, she appeared to be some kind of elderly fairy queen.
Neville barely managed to stutter a 'good morning' in reply, sitting at the table slack jawed as Gran poured water for her tea. He regained himself somewhat as she moved on to preparing her morning oatmeal and dove under the table to retrieve the fallen sections of the paper. Gran laid another errant section of the Prophet on the table as she sat down.
"What do you think we should plant in the garden this summer Neville?" She asked. There was no edge to her voice, no sharp comment on his klutziness, and he gawked yet again as he scrambled back out from under the table with the now crumpled business section.
"Well?" That was sharper, and though still not up to her normal bite, it comforted Neville enough that he could begin to stammer out a reply.
Neville slowly regained his composure as he talked about his beloved plants, planning the summer garden with Gran. If simply getting up early created such an incredible transformation in his grandmother, he thought with a smile, maybe he should become a morning person as well. Or at least while he was home for the summer.