A/N: Hello everyone! Welcome back to another fic :) I've gotten onto a kick lately where I've been exploring the relationship between Hermione and her Grandparents. This one has a little hint of something, so let's see if you can spot it ;)
I hope you enjoy my version of Grandpa Hugo. To be honest, I also kind of want to live in the cottage I described. It sounds like such a simple life. *insert wistful thinking here*
This one is for Round 4 of The Houses Competition, where I'm in Slytherin House and writing for Transfiguration. This competition, we have to write a drabble (500-1000 words) as well as a standard (1000-3000 words). This fic is the Standard of the two. I've chosen the prompts Pre-Hogwarts Era (Golden Era kids at Pre-Hogwarts age) and [Pairing type] Grandparent/Grandchild.
Thank you kindly to Dhrish, Ash, Hope, and Bailey for betaing this.
Word Count: 1711
Disclaimers/Warnings: None
Summary: 9 year old Hermione spends the summer with her Grandfather Hugo one last time before he passes away later that year.
"Camp Grandpa"
Hermione sighed happily as she looked out the window, the countryside blurring past. She sat in the back seat of her father's sedan and was on her way to her grandfather's home in the country. She went every year during the summer, when her parents had a dental convention outside the country, and she always looked forward to Camp Grandpa (as she affectionately called it.) They had lost her grandmother last year, and Hermione missed her dearly. Her grandfather, Hugo, however, always made sure she felt loved as if she still had both grandparents.
This year was going to be a little sadder than previous years. Only a few minutes into their drive had seen the comfortable silence between her and her father turn somber. "Make sure you spend as much time with your Grandpa Hugo as you can this year, Hermione," her father instructed. "He's sick, Hermione. So you can't spend hours huddled in your books. Use the time you have left with him to actually spend time with him."
"What's wrong with him?" she asked, and her father frowned at her in the mirror.
"He caught pneumonia earlier this year, and it's still affecting him. It's made him weak. So if he asks for your help with something, please do it without fuss," he explained before merging onto the highway.
Hermione nodded, her mood dampened by the news, dread filling her heart. They fell into silence once more, with only the sound of the Beatles on the radio filling the car. Hermione turned her head to stare out the window.
The city had swiftly transitioned into woods that then turned into rolling hills and meadows. Low stone walls started popping up everywhere. Hermione liked to imagine a creature running alongside the car, but it could never land on the ground. So the thing she imagined ran along these stone walls, leaping high as roads intersected farmland. Soon, however, these stone walls stopped altogether, and that is where Hermione imagined waving goodbye to the thing that kept pace with their car. Her eyes took in the tall grasses and wildflowers that overtook the countryside, and she knew she was close to her grandfather's cottage. They soon pulled into a small country lane, and before she knew it, they saw a familiar cottage before them.
"Grandpa Hugo!" Hermione called out happily, flinging herself from the car almost before her father could put it into park.
"My little Mia!" he greeted, giving a small "oof," as she launched herself at him to give him one of her patented 'Hermione Hugs'. Even though she was nine years old now, Grandpa Hugo still lifted her into his arms and cradled her like a baby, eliciting a giggle from her. Her father walked up to them, a small smile on his face, Hermione's luggage in hand.
"Hector, how was the drive?" Hugo asked, shifting the little girl in his arms so he could shake hands.
"It was fine, Dad," he replied, setting the suitcase down next to him and holding his arms out for his daughter.
"Alright, Hermione, now you be a good girl, and don't give your grandfather any trouble. The list of emergency numbers are the same, and we'll be back on Sunday to pick you up," he stated. She nodded as Grandpa Hugo passed her over and she clung to her father in a tight hug.
"Have a good trip!" she said before she was set back down. Grandpa Hugo leaned down to grab her suitcase and grunted with a grin at its weight. He set the suitcase back down with a thump.
"Good heavens, girl, what's in this thing? Books?" he teased with a smile and a wink. Hermione's father chuckled as she pouted in return.
"My coworkers always wondered how I got so buff. No one ever believed me when I said I lugged around my daughter's research material," he said teasingly, flexing his arms to show toned muscles straining against his shirt sleeves.
"I'll be here a whole week! I need to finish this book series before school starts so I'll have something new to talk about!" Hermione retorted with a sour look on her face. Both adults chuckled at her.
"You're right, we will have to have our storytime before bed every night. That would be the perfect time to do some light reading!" Grandpa Hugo replied. Hermione huffed and crossed her arms but relented as her father pulled her into one last hug.
"I'm off. Have fun this week!" he said before parting and heading back to the car.
"So, I have a whole list of activities we can do while you're here," Grandpa Hugo said, turning her attention back to him and off the car that was slowly getting smaller and smaller as it drove away. Hermione perked up at the thought of that.
"Grandpa, what are we doing?" she asked excitedly, her mind whirling at the possibilities. She looked up at her grandfather's cottage to inspect it. Not much had changed since the last time she had been here.
The cottage itself was made of large stones cobbled together, patches of vibrant green ivy trailing up to the roof near the kitchen windows. The path that led to the front door through the front garden was flanked with rose bushes; beyond them, the garden was filled with paving stones, wildflowers, birdbaths, and more! Her grandfather's front garden always reminded her a little of what she expected Bilbo Baggins' front garden to look like from her Hobbit book.
Grandpa Hugo suddenly coughing violently into his hand broke her out of her observation, and she looked up at him worriedly. He waved her concerns away.
"No worries, just a remnant cough from the pneumonia that got to me earlier this year," he replied before grabbing her suitcase. He seemed to lift it much easier this time, and he used his free hand to usher her inside. "That was a long drive. Are you hungry at all?"
Hermione shook her head as they entered his kitchen. He hadn't changed it much since her grandmother had died. Bundles of herbs hung from the ceiling over the sink, the breakfast table still had the stain she had accidentally made last year when one of her projects had bubbled over, and the boots by the back door were still trailed in mud.
She hugged her grandfather all of a sudden, surprising him momentarily before he rested a hand on her back in reply. "I miss Grandma…" she murmured into his chest and Grandpa Hugo rested his cheek on her head.
"I do too, sweetie," he replied just as quietly. He then gave her shoulder a squeeze before pulling away. "Alright, first things first, let's get this suitcase unpacked! Then we'll have a snack, then we'll go to the back garden and gather a few supplies for our 'potions'," he said, using air quotes for the last word.
Hermione giggled, excited. She accepted her suitcase from her grandfather and made her way over to the spare bedroom she always used when she was here.
Standing in the doorway, Hermione saw that the room looked the same as it always had. The afghan that laid on the bed was one her grandmother had knitted the year before she had died. Hermione would grab it later when they settled into the living room to read before bed, but until then, she shoved her hand into the blanket, a calm washing over her as she fingered the soft fibers. She would have learned how to knit from her grandmother when she turned ten, but unfortunately, her grandmother had passed away before she got the chance. The floor was hardwood covered in a thick plush rug, and it looked like a new bookcase had gone up in the year she had been gone. Grinning widely, she started unpacking her books—only nine of them this year, since she was now nine years old—before putting all her clothes in the wardrobe.
All too quickly, she was back in the kitchen, ready for their experiments to begin, her sleeves rolled up and her bushy hair trapped in a straining hair tie—her mother still hadn't gone to Tesco to grab the larger sized hair ties for her bountiful curls.
The 'potions' Grandpa Hugo had talked about were little experiments he cooked up in order to keep her mind engaged. Last year, she had made a plaster volcano that they then 'cooked' a potion of baking soda and vinegar in. It had made a delightful mess, but the stain on the table, as she had noticed earlier, still hadn't come out of the table.
Relacing her trainers, Hermione waited for Grandpa Hugo to come back to the kitchen. Hearing the washroom sink running, she sat herself down and was content to stare up at the herb bundles hanging from the ceiling.
She blinked rapidly before rubbing her eyes. Did that herb bundle just wink at her? When she looked again, the herbs were just herbs. Perhaps the car ride had tired her out more than she had thought. Grandpa Hugo came back into the kitchen at that exact moment.
"Alright, Mia, let's go grab some cheese and nuts before heading outside. Let's see what we can harvest," he said, grinning widely, and Hermione grinned back at him. "I have a new magical plant to show you!" Hermione giggled as she took his offered hand. He always called the things in his garden magical. To her, they were. There were so many different plants she didn't know, but she vowed to herself she would memorize them all this year. If her Grandpa Hugo wasn't feeling the best, and might not live much longer, she had to use this week wisely and memorize everything she could, spend as much time with him as she could. She already regretted not doing so with her grandmother.
And so, as she donned the wide brimmed sunhat and thick leathery gloves—Grandpa Hugo always told her they were dragonhide gloves, but she would laugh at him. Dragons weren't real, Grandpa! she would say—she took in the sight that was her grandpa surrounded by his strange plants.
She was so ready to see what this week would bring her.