A few days had passed since Hermione's last conversation with Frank in the garden. Things had been relatively peaceful around the manor, though Frank had been notably distant. He'd been avoiding her—whether intentionally or not, she couldn't tell. He seemed to find excuses to leave the room whenever she entered, and their conversations had dwindled to polite exchanges at best. Hermione noticed it but hadn't commented on it. After all, they were both grieving in their own ways. But it did make her feel more isolated than ever.
The manor, though grand and beautiful, was starting to feel like a cage. Hermione spent most of her time with Harry and Neville, chasing them around the garden, reading them stories, and trying to keep the peace between two very energetic toddlers. She loved them both dearly, but they were still just babies, and while their giggles and babbles warmed her heart, they didn't provide the kind of conversation she desperately missed.
One morning, as Hermione was trying to coax Harry into eating his breakfast while Neville was throwing his food around like confetti, Augusta entered the room with a sharp eye and a kind smile.
"My dear," Augusta said, placing a gentle hand on Hermione's shoulder, "you've been cooped up here long enough. You need to get out of the house, feel like a normal adult again."
Hermione blinked, surprised. "I'm fine, really. I don't need to—"
"Nonsense!" Augusta interrupted firmly. "You've been wonderful with the boys, but you need a break. A bit of time to yourself. Go out, enjoy a day in town. The children and I will be just fine."
Hermione hesitated. The idea of leaving the manor, of stepping back into the world outside, was both tempting and terrifying. But she had to admit, a part of her longed for some semblance of normalcy.
"Are you sure?" she asked, glancing at Harry, who was now trying to grab Neville's spoon.
"Absolutely," Augusta replied, her tone brooking no argument. "Go, Hermione. You've earned it."
Reluctantly, Hermione agreed. She spent the morning preparing herself for a day out, though she wasn't entirely sure what she was going to do. She hadn't exactly been socialising much since she arrived in this time period, and most of her trips outside had been to get Peter, who was now a permanent resident of St Mungo's, or Gringotts, where she had taken Harry to get the Horcrux removed. But Augusta was right—she needed to get out, even if it was just for a few hours.
After saying goodbye to the boys, who were happily distracted by Augusta's offer of a new game, Hermione left the manor and headed to one of the few places that still felt comforting to her: the library.
It wasn't crowded, which was just as well. Hermione found solace among the towering shelves of books, the familiar scent of parchment and ink calming her nerves. She spent some time browsing, letting herself get lost in the pages of history and magic. It was easy to forget her troubles when she had a good book in hand.
As she was perusing the shelves in the back corner, Hermione noticed a tall, dark-haired man standing a few feet away, his eyes scanning the spines of the books. He looked vaguely familiar, though she couldn't quite place where she had seen him before.
The man turned slightly, catching her gaze. He gave her a small smile and approached.
"Excuse me," he said in a deep, calm voice, "but I couldn't help but notice you're interested in ancient magical texts. I'm always looking for someone who shares a similar taste in literature."
Hermione smiled, feeling a bit more at ease. "I've always been fascinated by ancient magic. There's so much we can learn from the past."
The man returned her smile, a glint of respect in his eyes. "Indeed. I'm Kingsley, by the way. Kingsley Shacklebolt."
Hermione's breath caught in her throat. Kingsley Shacklebolt—she knew him from her own time, of course. But seeing him here, younger and unfamiliar with her, was both strange and comforting.
"Hermione," she said, introducing herself with a small nod.
Kingsley seemed to study her for a moment, as if trying to place her face. But then he smiled again, and the moment passed. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Hermione. What brings you here today?"
Hermione hesitated, trying to come up with a reasonable explanation that didn't involve time travel or the complexities of her current situation. "Just... looking for something to read. A bit of a break from the usual, I suppose."
Kingsley chuckled. "I can relate to that. Sometimes you just need to escape, even if it's only for a little while."
They chatted for a few more minutes, exchanging thoughts on books and magic. Kingsley had a calming presence, much like Remus, and Hermione found herself enjoying the conversation more than she had anticipated. But as they spoke, her mind drifted back to Remus, and she was reminded of the fact that she still hadn't managed to locate him yet.
Hermione had tried every method she could think of to locate Remus, but each attempt seemed to lead to a dead end. She had sent Patronuses across the continent, hoping one might reach him, only for them to return unanswered. She had scoured the newspapers and wizarding reports for any mention of his name, but there was nothing—no sightings, no rumours, not even a whisper. Desperate, she even resorted to consulting obscure tracking spells and magical artefacts in the hopes of finding a trace of his presence, but they all failed, leaving her with a growing sense of dread. The fear that Remus was either too far gone or worse, no longer alive, had started to weigh heavily on her heart.
Kingsley's calm voice brought her back to the present.
"So, what's your favourite ancient text?" he asked, leaning forward with a warm smile. "You strike me as someone who enjoys a good, dusty old book."
Hermione blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the question. She had been so lost in her worries that she hadn't expected the shift in conversation. But she welcomed it. "Oh... I think it has to be The Tales of Beedle the Bard," she replied, a soft smile tugging at her lips. "Not exactly ancient in the strictest sense, but the lessons in it... they've always stayed with me. And the original runes used in the first editions are fascinating to decode."
Kingsley chuckled. "I should've known. A classic with a twist of intellect. Sounds like you." His eyes sparkled with amusement as he added, "I've always been partial to The Book of Exalted Secrets. Dense, but the layers of meaning in those texts are worth the effort."
Hermione nodded, her mind momentarily shifting away from her worries. "That's a good one too. I've always admired how the author interweaves magical theory with practical applications... it's brilliant, really."
They fell into a comfortable rhythm, discussing favourite books, obscure texts, and the frustrations of trying to find copies of long-out-of-print works. Kingsley's relaxed demeanour put Hermione at ease, and for a moment, the weight of her search for Remus felt a little lighter.
As the conversation began to wind down, Kingsley leaned back in his chair, hesitating for a brief moment before asking, "Would you mind if I owled you sometime? It's been a while since I've had a good chat about books, and it's nice to have someone to talk to."
Hermione considered him for a moment before nodding. "Sure. You can reach me at the Longbottom Manor. Augusta Longbottom's place."
Kingsley raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. "The Longbottoms? That's not exactly where I expected you to be staying."
Hermione smiled faintly. "It's a long story. But yes, you can owl me there."
Kingsley smiled back, genuine warmth in his expression. "I'll be sure to do that. It's rare to find someone who enjoys the same type of literature I do. Thanks, Hermione."
She nodded, watching as he left the library. It was a small, unexpected connection in a world that often felt overwhelming. And for a moment, as she watched the door close behind him, she felt a little less alone.
When she returned to the manor later that afternoon, Frank was waiting for her in the entrance hall. His expression was unreadable, but there was something simmering beneath the surface.
"Out late, weren't you?" Frank remarked, his tone casual but with an edge that set Hermione on alert.
She raised an eyebrow, sensing the tension. "I was at the library," she replied, brushing past him.
"The library?" he repeated, voice dripping with scepticism. "And who exactly did you meet there?"
Hermione turned to face him, irritation flaring. "What is that supposed to mean?"
Frank folded his arms across his chest, his jaw tight. "You're supposed to be focusing on the children. Not gallivanting around meeting strangers."
"Gallivanting?" Hermione echoed, her own temper rising. Why was he acting like this when they had a nice conversation a few days ago? "I'm allowed to have a life outside of taking care of Neville and Harry, you know. I don't see why that's any of your concern."
Frank's eyes narrowed. "Because you said you were here for them. You promised you would protect them, and now you're off doing who knows what with who knows who."
Hermione clenched her fists at her sides, trying to keep her voice steady. "I haven't broken my promise. I would never let anything happen to Harry or Neville. But that doesn't mean I have to lock myself away and never speak to another adult."
Frank's gaze hardened. "Just be careful, Hermione. The last thing those boys need is more instability."
His words stung, and Hermione felt her frustration bubble over. "Don't you dare imply that I'm doing anything to harm them. I've done nothing but care for them, protect them—"
"And yet you're out meeting strangers while I'm supposed to trust that they're safe?" Frank shot back, his voice rising.
Hermione glared at him, feeling a mixture of hurt and anger. "You know what, Frank? If you can't trust me by now, then maybe that's your problem, not mine."
The tension between them crackled in the air, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, without another word, Hermione turned on her heel and stormed up the stairs, her heart pounding in her chest.
Frank was… insufferable! One minute, they were having a wonderful conversation, and Hermione was thinking that he was starting to trust her. And now, he was like this.
The next few days went by in a blink. The tension between Hermione and Frank remained thick. They avoided each other whenever possible, speaking only when necessary. It was exhausting, and Hermione found herself longing for some peace.
She found the perfect opportunity the next afternoon.
While she was watching Harry and Neville take turns on Neville's toy broomstick, an owl swooped down and dropped a parchment in her lap before flying off.
"Nymmy, ool!" Harry cried, pointing to the owl, which was quickly fading from view.
"Oooooool," Neville repeated and clapped, happy that they remembered the creature's name.
Smiling, Hermione nodded and said, "Very good, boys. That was an owl."
"Oool," they said happily before getting distracted by something else.
Hermione unfolded the letter, her eyes widening in surprise as she read the sender's name: Kingsley Shacklebolt.
He wanted to meet again, and Hermione felt a flicker of excitement mixed with trepidation. Before she could decide what to do, Augusta approached her from the manor, glancing at the letter in Hermione's hand.
"An invitation, I see," Augusta commented with a knowing smile. "I think you should go."
Hermione hesitated. "I'm not sure... I mean, with everything going on—"
"Nonsense," Augusta interrupted gently. "You're young, my dear. You deserve to have some time to yourself. Go and meet your new friend. Neville and Harry will be just fine here with me."
Hermione smiled gratefully at Augusta. "Thank you."
A few days later, Hermione found herself heading back into the heart of Diagon Alley, her steps quick and eager as she anticipated her second meeting with Kingsley Shacklebolt. Their first encounter had been a refreshing surprise. His calm demeanour, deep voice, and sharp intellect had reminded her of the people she'd once trusted back in her own time—people who were either long gone or unreachable.
When she walked into the small, tucked-away café where they had agreed to meet, she spotted him instantly. Kingsley, with his dark skin and broad shoulders, was impossible to miss. He waved her over with a welcoming smile, his presence radiating a sense of ease that made her feel instantly at home.
"Hermione," he greeted warmly, standing as she approached. "Glad you could make it."
"Of course," she replied, settling into the seat opposite him. "I've been looking forward to this."
They exchanged pleasantries over coffee, but soon, their conversation delved deeper into topics that Hermione hadn't had the chance to discuss with anyone else in a long time—ancient texts, magical theory, and the state of the wizarding world as it was slowly rebuilding itself after the war. Kingsley had a way of making even the most complex subjects feel like light conversation, and Hermione found herself laughing and relaxing in his company.
He was charming, yes, but not in a way that made her feel uncomfortable. Instead, he was easy to talk to—his questions were thoughtful, his observations sharp. He didn't pry into her life, didn't press her for details she wasn't ready to share. He seemed content to let the conversation flow naturally, with no hidden agenda. There was something reassuring in that, something she hadn't realised she needed until now.
As the evening progressed, she noticed the way Kingsley would occasionally glance around the café, as if he were perpetually on guard despite his calm exterior. It reminded her of the old Order members—the ones who had lived through enough battles to never truly let their guard down. It made her respect him all the more.
After what felt like hours of conversation, Kingsley leaned back in his chair and smiled. "You know, Hermione, it's rare to find someone who shares the same passion for knowledge as I do. I'm glad we crossed paths."
Hermione smiled back, feeling a warmth in her chest that she hadn't felt in a long time. "I'm glad too. It's been... nice, having someone to talk to."
He nodded, his expression turning a bit more serious. "If you ever need someone to talk to, about anything—whether it's books or something else—you know where to find me."
She appreciated the offer more than she could express. It wasn't just the conversation that had been refreshing; it was the sense of normalcy, of having a friend who wasn't a part of her complicated past or the tangled web of her current situation. Kingsley was simply... Kingsley.
When it was finally time to leave, they walked out into the twilight together. The streets were quieter now, the shops closing up for the evening. As they said their goodbyes, Kingsley reached out and gently touched her arm.
"Take care, Hermione," he said, his voice sincere. "And don't be a stranger."
"I won't," she promised, feeling lighter than she had in weeks. "You take care too, Kingsley."
As she made her way back to the manor, the cool evening breeze brushing against her skin, Hermione couldn't help but reflect on how much had changed since she first arrived in this time. She had been so consumed with fixing everything, with making sure Harry and Neville were safe, that she had forgotten to take care of herself. Meeting Kingsley had reminded her that she was allowed to live her life, too.