They had just begun to settle into a routine by the American Muggle holiday of Thanksgiving. Stephen was the only one who gave even half a thought to celebrating, but between Hermione's disinterest and Wong's downright disapproval, they had opted for going out for Chinese, instead.
It was Luna's first time out of the Sanctum since she'd arrived. The place wasn't far, and Wong had assured her that they could return any time they liked, but it was Hermione who had demonstrated, opening up a portal from the kitchen directly into Luna's room upstairs. Luna had examined the portal with fascination, running her hands along the edges — seriously testing Hermione's endurance in holding it open, if she were honest — before gravely stepping through and back again with a solemn nod. The ease of exit thus confirmed, they departed for the restaurant, which turned out to be only steps away from their front door, just past the bodega.
The late Thursday afternoon was quiet, evening commuters almost entirely absent from the city streets, at least for those very few minutes they were on them. A few snowflakes fluttered down from fat blankets of lambs-wool clouds, but something in the air promised more than the occasional flurry. Luna turned her head this way and that, taking in this quick glimpse of the neighborhood until they had to duck under the construction awning and step inside.
The restaurant was what Strange affectionately dubbed a "hole in the wall", earning him a scowl from Wong. Hermione just rolled her eyes. The two never fought, that she'd seen, but they picked and teased and wrangled each other like she'd only seen in very close families, like the Weasleys.
Shaking off the thought, Hermione turned her attention to her environment, and most importantly, her friend. Luna was handling herself well, though her movements were somewhat shorter and more clipped than Hermione usually associated with the younger witch. She held to the center of their little group, Wong leading them in, Hermione at her side, and Stephen taking up the rear. Luckily it wasn't the type of place where you had to make up your mind as you stood there. Hermione didn't mind such things for herself (though Stephen took ages to make up his mind), but considering how much of a stretch this was for Luna already, she didn't want to push it.
But, as usual, Wong had chosen perfectly.
She wondered about him, sometimes. He was gruff and taciturn, often silent for hours at a time, and he never seemed truly pleased with anything. The best he ever showed was a decisive nod, which was directed at some task he had undertaken, like cleaning his library or brewing a cup of tea. If it passed muster, he would nod, presumably with satisfaction, though his face never showed even a hint of a smile.
And for all that, he seemed to do exactly the right thing in so many situations. Like tonight. She had been trying to get Luna outdoors for a week — to the park, to the library, anywhere — just to get some sunlight on her face, if nothing else. But Wong had but to make the suggestion of dining out that night, and she had accepted. He hadn't even been speaking directly to Luna, instead lecturing Stephen on the evils of colonialist narratives. But she had spoken up, agreeing it was a much lovelier idea than roasting a poor turkey, and now they were here.
An older woman, slim and straight-backed, had come to show them to their table, situated in a little nook at the very back of the restaurant, near the kitchens. Evidently Wong was well known here, because the waitstaff never even brought a menu, they just started showing up with food. Within moments, the table was fully laden with dishes of all sorts — cold noodles gleaming with oil and chilies, bamboo baskets full of steamed dumplings, heaps of sauteed green vegetables, a large covered tureen that emitted a rich, spicy aroma.
Wong chatted cordially (in Chinese) with their hostess, who had remained to oversee the delivery of this veritable banquet, and whose gaze lingered more often than not on Luna, who seemed at the moment to be lost in thought. There was a careful expression on her face, and when she caught Hermione's eye, an understanding passed between them, unspoken. The woman simply nodded, and after a brief word to Wong in her native language, disappeared into the kitchen.
She returned with a hand-thrown cup, much like they had at the Sanctum, and a teapot made of clear glass, full of hot water. She sat the pot carefully down in front of Luna, who had come out of her daze to stare at the woman intently, eyes following the pot as it descended.
"Look," the woman said, as she pulled a gauze bag from the pocket of her apron. She opened the teapot and poured in several small black pellets. Hermione watched, fascinated, as the pellets opened up into long green spirals, turning the water a pale gold.
"It's tea," she said appreciatively.
"It's lovely," Luna echoed, following the unfurling leaf with her finger. She looked up at the woman, with a grateful smile. "Thank you."
"You drink this, you feel better, ba ?" the woman said, with an expression of matronly instruction.
"Yes, of course," Luna replied, still marveling at the swirling leaves.
With her instructions accepted and confirmed, the hostess departed, leaving the four of them to commence with their meal.
The food was, of course, magnificent. Hermione had very little idea of what everything was, but the capsicums were clearly visible in what inevitably proved to be the hotter dishes. She had gotten Chinese takeaway quite a lot in London, both before she began and Hogwarts and after she'd finished there, but Sichuan cuisine was out of her experience, for some reason. It was probably because of her two best friends' strong preference for pizza. Ron couldn't get enough of the stuff, once they'd introduced him to it.
She found she really liked the tan tan noodles, with their slick, spicy coating of chili oil, minced red peppers, and sharp spring onions. Between that and the beef noodle soup, her mouth was delightfully on fire from the various and plentiful doses of capiscum.
Luna was sipping her tea carefully and looking around the room, as if willing this pleasant moment to never fade from her memory. She had dutifully tried some of everything, taking particular delight in the marinated cucumbers and the little steamed buns shaped like peaches.
Her cheeks were rosy for the first time since she had come to them, and her eyes lit up with a sly spark as she followed their conversation — well, her and Stephen's conversation; he and Wong were having another bout of their usual playful bickering.
After the meal, when they had done all they could accomplish at table, the four of them strolled home, Stephen and Wong flanking Hermione and Luna as the two women went arm-in-arm, more relaxed than Hermione could remember being in year.
