Chapter One

Hermione Granger, as everyone who was familiar with her knew, had always been an advocate for learning and education, but in her heart, on this morning of September 1st, 2014 there was a tightness in her chest as she watched her only child eagerly prepare for her first day of primary school, downing orange juice in one go and running about with a slice of marmalade toast around the house.

"Mummy, my shoes!" She heard the cry, all the way from upstairs, as Bea's socked feet thumped against the wooden floorboards of above.

Hermione promptly pulled her wand out of her curls and accioed the red-varnish ballet flats, so lovely and shiny Hermione could see her own reflection on the leather. Her daughter had a vanity that it seemed Hermione would never possess.

She needn't waste her breath calling, as in seconds Beatrice appeared before her, dressed in the plaid blue dress with puff-sleeves and the school crest, as well as two pieces of red ribbon and a comb in hand. Hermione helped her into the red cardigan, but couldn't help but roll her eyes and internally groan at the task that would be braiding her daughter's wild curly hair in two plaits.

"How about just a ponytail, darling?" She tried, her voice soft and sweet in order to convince her child. The six-year-old simply shook her head at the proposition, a big fat 'no' leaving her lips. "And how about just a single French braid instead of two?"

Bea's response was to furrow her eyebrows and cluck her tongue in annoyance, little arms crossing over her chest and feet stomping the floor, however not too defiantly as she knew her mother would never have it.

"Ugh, all right, Beatrice, but don't you dare think I'll do this every day!"

It took them pulling, tugging, untangling and quite a bit of tears before they could be out the door twenty minutes later, Beatrice looking as impeccable as ever in her uniform, sporting her polka-dotted backpack, the much desired braids secured in red ribbon completing the Dorothy-esque look.

Hermione climbed onto her vintage yellow bike and Bea hopped on the back, more than ready for them to start their small pilgrimage into town and towards Queen Anne's Primary School.

Neither exertion nor the cool morning breeze hitting Hermione's cheeks could subside the feeling in her chest that meant time was passing all too quickly for her liking and that before she'd notice, her darling Bumble-Bee would be a grown woman herself, and Merlin how that irrationally hurt.

The road to school was winding, but not long as it passed stone cottages with thatched roofs along the way, all of them quite similar to Hermione's own. Beautifully tended-to gardens boasted the last of the summer blooms, the trees were only beginning to take on warm autumnal hues and wherever mother and daughter passed that they came across one or another neighbor, there were waves and shouts of 'good morning' or 'good luck on your first day!'.

The village of Amberley in West Sussex was indeed a small and quaint little thing, most of the dwellers elderly folk and though for Hermione who'd always been a city girl it hadn't been easy to adapt, she was for once truly and utterly happy, a fact that she considered a feat. Her separation hadn't been easy, hell, heartbreak hadn't been easy, nor had been leaving the city of Edinburgh, her home for so long. The greatest pain had been witnessing Bea's due to the absence of her father, but now, three years later, many tears and sleepless nights later, life was good.

Amberley was home now, their old little cottage and it's rickety stairs was home; their tall and fragrant apple tree was home and so were the tea leaves, wildflowers, bird houses and the vast field of poppies and chamomiles just past the low stone fencing of their cottage that curved downwards into a hill where the pure water of a river stream splashed against mossy stones along its path to disembogue in the Arun river.

They arrived at the school with bright red cheeks, Hermione a bit out of breath. She parked the bicycle under a large tree and helped her daughter off. When she looked at Bea, she no longer saw the little girl bubbling with excitement from minutes earlier, but one with big, nervous brown eyes staring back at her from long lashes, her lips curved into a worried pout. She felt a rush of emotion spread through her body and she couldn't help but crouch down into her little girl's level, pulling her in for a tight and reassuring embrace.

"I know you're nervous, darling and it's perfectly fine… You'll be fine and I'm sure you'll be a wonderful student…" She cooed as Bea wrapped her little arms around her neck, burying her face into the curve of her shoulder.

"What if no one likes, me mummy?" Hermione exhaled deeply. She knew that type of insecurity very well, she'd felt it all her life but especially in her girlhood, one in which for the most part she was a bookish little outcast.

"You're smart, funny, beautiful… Who wouldn't like you? And even if it's hard during the first days to make friends, don't you worry, everything will fall into place and you won't be lonely too long." Hermione kissed Bea's temple tenderly, running her fingers along her cheek. "Do you trust me, Beatrice?" The girl nodded vigorously, still looking every bit afraid. "Good, now where's mummy's kiss?"

Beatrice pressed her lips against Hermione's as they normally did when bidding each other goodbye. The head teacher was at the doorstep, waving kindly at the new students and asking them their names.

"Beatrice H. Bell, you're in Ms. Andrew's class, lucky girl-she's wonderful!" The older woman whispered as if only in Bea's confidence, sensing her nervousness. Hermione mouthed a thank you to the lady and watched as her daughter passed through the wide green doors, stopping only to wave back at her mum one last time. Hermione waved in return and blew her a kiss.

…

He'd just dropped his Lily in her classroom door, little May sobbing in his arms because she wanted to go to school just like her older sister when he swore he saw a familiar head of light brown curls, almost golden in the sunlight. She wore a pair of jeans and a striped multicolored jumper, a small leather backpack strapped on. He watched as she climbed onto one of those lovely vintage bicycles and pedalled away. The angle hadn't permitted him to see much of her face, but he knew, he simply knew it could only be her.

Fifteen years had passed and she still looked much the same, but what were the odds that out of all the countries in the world and the cities of England he would find her here, in Amberley, at the steps of his daughter's muggle school? Nevertheless, seeing her shifted something inside him… It was unsettling to say the least.

What could he possibly say to her? Did they still have anything in common? Was she married? Was her favourite book still Hogwarts, a History? Would she even want to see or talk to him, after so many years? Questions and more questions swam around his brain that he didn't even pay mind to May's incessant crying, drowning it out. He set the little redhead on the ground, still dressed in her plush pajamas, a pair of crocs on her feet and she stopped crying of her own accord, staring curiously at him with those bright hazel eyes as he took hold of her tiny hand and walked with her home, in silence, lost in his thoughts.

Of all the things that could have happened today, being Lily's first day, this was the furthest from his expectations. He'd more easily expect a dragon to burn down his house or for goblins to steal the moon than this, running into her after so long. He felt guilt as well, among other things, for at some point he'd stopped answering her letters, until they stopped coming altogether and they became completely and utterly lost in the world to one another.

Cardboard boxes and his leather school trunk littered the small house he'd just moved into-the only possessions he still had left after departing from Canada, from the entire life he'd built for himself there. He couldn't stand it anymore, it wasn't home, only had been while his wife, herself a Canadian was still with them. But three long years had passed since her death and the more time passed the more living there became torture. He had no roots in Canada other than Sarah, he had no friends that weren't mutual friends; he had no neighbors who looked at him with something besides pity. He hadn't a job he was particularly fond of.

And then when his father-in-law also passed, a month ago, there were no more excuses for staying. Bernard had left him this cottage that had been in their family for generations, the Walsh family's only remaining tie to England. And so having no other place to run back to, he came and very quickly fell in love with the place.

The house needed work, windows to be repaired, wallpaper to be replaced, plumbing, salvaging the garden, fixing a section of the roof… He looked forward to it all, making this place into his home. After years of living in a sort of limbo, he finally felt free again, energized, he looked forward to this new beginning to see his daughters grow up in a comfortable, loving home, having a garden to play in, a nice school, the sort of happy childhood he hadn't been privy to and that until this day he carried the scars of, literal and figurative.

He turned on the telly where Charlie & Lola was on and May was happy to sit on the armchair with her quilt and watch. He prepared her a bowl of porridge and set it in front of her with a spoon.

"Eat up, sweetheart…" He urged her tenderly, running his fingers through her ginger curls.

"I miss Lily…" He nodded in understanding and pressed a kiss on her head.

"I miss her too, but now, we'll have to make do with one another for a few hours. Would you like to help me in the garden later?" May loved the garden, the mud, picking dandelions and hunting for invisible fairies in the hedges. Her face lit up at the proposition, eyes shining in delight.

"Yes, daddy…" He couldn't help but smile at his youngest, one of the two loves of his life.

"I'll be upstairs in my study if you need me…" She nodded and pushed a spoonful of the warm porridge into her mouth, turning her attention back to her show.

He climbed up the stairs, his heart beating fast. He needed to find them, her letters, he needed to find them… They were somewhere in these boxes. He began to open each one, frantically rummaging inside for cream colored muggle envelopes tied with ribbon in a small stack. It was another half-hour before he came across them, inside a book that she'd gifted him with upon Lily's birth. It was "The Secret Garden" by Frances Hodgson Burnett, one of his daughters' favourites.

He opened the book and read the inscription, her neat, elegant cursive handwriting in black ink. The words brought tears to his eyes, because he'd missed his best friend ever too much.

'For darling Lily, in the hopes that you'll one day find a secret garden of happiness and love of your own. Yours, Hermione.'

A small but hopefully fruitful chapter. If you like it and wish for me to continue, don't forget to review!