Later that evening, Hermione found herself in the bathroom with two giggling boys who were in desperate need of a bath. Harry's sniffles had calmed, and Neville's energy seemed boundless, making the thought of a quiet bedtime nothing short of a dream. She knelt by the tub, running the warm water and testing it with her hand as the boys stood nearby, tugging at their clothes with impatient hands.
"Alright, you two," Hermione said with a gentle smile, helping them out of their little outfits and into the tub. The warm water instantly drew more giggles from them as they splashed about, Harry's laughter mixing with Neville's excited babbling. She couldn't help but smile at the sight, her heart swelling with affection for the little ones.
She began to soap up a washcloth, scrubbing at the remnants of dirt on their faces and arms. Neville was the more cooperative one, letting her wash his hair with minimal fuss, while Harry kept squirming, giggling uncontrollably whenever she tried to soap his head.
Just as she was trying to rinse off Harry's hair, the bathroom door creaked open. Frank stepped in, his brow furrowed as he mumbled something under his breath about the Ministry. His frustration was evident, and Hermione could hear him snapping at the house-elves earlier. He seemed lost in his thoughts, only half paying attention to where he was going.
"Frank?" Hermione called softly, pausing in her task as she looked over her shoulder.
He blinked, finally noticing the scene before him. His expression softened at the sight of the boys in the tub, their faces lit up with pure joy. The tension in his shoulders seemed to melt away as he took in the scene.
"Need a hand?" he asked, stepping closer.
Hermione smiled and nodded. "They're a handful tonight."
Frank crouched down next to the tub, his earlier frustration melting away as he immersed himself in the playful atmosphere. The tension from his day at the Ministry seemed like a distant memory now, replaced by the infectious joy of two little boys splashing in the warm, soapy water. He leaned closer to the tub and, with a playful grin, began making silly duck sounds. His quacks were loud and exaggerated, each one more ridiculous than the last, and Harry and Neville quickly dissolved into fits of giggles, their laughter echoing off the tiled walls.
"Quack, quack!" Frank quacked again, his voice deep and theatrical. He flapped his arms like wings, making exaggerated faces as he waddled from side to side. Harry and Neville clapped their wet hands together, their laughter bubbling up like the frothy soap suds surrounding them.
"Look, your dada's a duck!" Hermione cried exaggeratedly.
"Not just any duck," Frank said, lowering his voice to a dramatic whisper, "but the King of Ducks!" He puffed out his chest, lifting his chin proudly, and strutted around the tub as if he were on a grand parade. "Bow before the Duck King!" he proclaimed, and Harry and Neville let out a high-pitched laugh that filled the room.
Hermione couldn't help but smile as she watched the scene unfold. Frank had a natural way with the boys, and seeing him so relaxed, so playful, tugged at something deep inside her. The day's exhaustion seemed to fade into the background, replaced by the warmth of this moment. Her gaze softened as she observed Frank tenderly washing Harry's hair, his hands gentle as he worked the shampoo into a lather. He made exaggerated, silly faces as he massaged Harry's scalp, pretending that the soap bubbles were magical creatures from a far-off land.
"Look, boys," Frank said, his voice full of mock seriousness as he pointed to a large clump of bubbles floating in the water. "That right there is a Bubblebeast. Very rare, very dangerous. Only a brave wizard like you can tame it!" He wiggled his fingers as if casting a spell, and Harry giggled uncontrollably, trying to catch the bubbles with his tiny hands.
Neville splashed water in excitement, his chubby hands reaching for the elusive Bubblebeast too. "Dada, we!" he exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with joy.
"You want to catch it too? Ah, but it's a tricky one, Neville," Frank said, his voice still dripping with theatricality. "You've got to be quick and clever. Only the swiftest can catch a Bubblebeast!"
Hermione chuckled, shaking her head in amusement as she dipped her hand into the water to help guide the boys' hands toward the bubbles.
"Are you two brave enough for this mission?" she asked, her voice teasing.
Their little faces were full of determination. Frank reached out to help Harry scoop up a handful of bubbles. "There you go, Harry," he said, his tone softer now, "you've caught it! The mighty Bubblebeast is yours."
Harry beamed with pride, his laughter turning into hiccups as he looked up at Frank with wide, adoring eyes. "Weast!"
"Yes, you caught the beast," Frank said, his voice full of affection as he ruffled Harry's damp hair. "You're a natural, just like your dad."
The mention of Harry's father brought a brief pause to the room, a momentary quietness that settled between them like a soft sigh. Hermione's heart ached at the thought of James Potter, but Frank's gentle touch on Harry's shoulder, his unwavering presence, made the moment feel less heavy, more bearable.
Neville, always eager to join in, splashed his hands energetically in the water again, sending a wave of suds flying into the air. Hermione let out a small yelp as the splash headed straight for her. Before she could react, Frank instinctively raised his arm to shield her, and the water splattered against his sleeve, spilling over onto her front.
For a moment, she just stared at him, surprised by his quick reflexes. The way he hovered protectively in front of her sent a warmth through her chest that she hadn't expected. She smiled, ready to thank him, but then Frank turned his head to look at her, and something shifted.
His gaze lowered to where the water had drenched her shirt. She watched his eyes widen as his face turned a deep shade of red.
"Frank, are you okay?" she asked, her voice laced with concern and confusion. What had she done to make him look like he wanted to disappear on the spot?
His gaze kept on flitting from her face to her shirt and then around the bathroom, his lashes flickering with effort. Hermione was completely dumbfounded. What was he doing?
"Uh—uh, yeah, I'm—I'm fine!" Frank stammered, his voice higher than usual. He was clearly flustered, and Hermione couldn't quite figure out why. She noticed him glancing around the bathroom, his eyes wide and searching for something—anything—to distract himself.
Before she could ask what was going on, Frank's hand shot out toward the rubber duck floating in the tub. He grabbed it and squeezed. Hard. A loud, high-pitched squeak reverberated off the bathroom walls. Hermione jumped at the sound, blinking in surprise, but before she could say anything, Harry and Neville burst into uncontrollable giggles.
"Squeee!" Harry laughed, pointing at the duck.
Neville clapped his hands, delighted. "Squeee! Squeee!"
Hermione looked from the giggling boys to Frank, who was holding the duck like it was some sort of lifeline. He had a sheepish grin on his face, and despite his obvious embarrassment, she couldn't help but laugh. The entire situation was so absurd, so unexpected, that it was impossible not to.
"Frank, what—?" she started, but before she could finish, he squeezed the duck again. Another loud squeak echoed through the room, and the boys doubled over with laughter.
She shook her head, her earlier confusion giving way to fond amusement. Frank was still blushing furiously, but he seemed to be relaxing now, even chuckling along with the boys. There was something endearing about how flustered he was, and Hermione couldn't help but find it... charming. She still didn't understand what had made him so awkward.
The chaos in the bathroom continued for a few more moments as the boys delighted in Frank's antics. Eventually, Hermione decided it was time to get things back on track. "Alright, alright," she said, trying to regain control of the situation. "I think that's enough squeaking for one night."
Frank, clearly relieved, nodded and set the duck back in the tub. "Right. Sorry about that. Got a bit carried away."
She smiled at him, warmth still lingering in her chest. "It's okay. You certainly know how to keep things interesting."
His blush deepened, and Hermione found herself charmed by his awkwardness. She wasn't sure when she had started feeling this way, but lately, there was something... different about Frank. Something she couldn't quite put her finger on.
The noise of the boys faded into the background as the air between them seemed to hum with a quiet tension. It was brief—a flicker of something unspoken, something that made Hermione's breath catch in her throat. She quickly looked away, her heart pounding as she focused on the boys again.
Frank, too, seemed to feel the weight of the moment. He cleared his throat, breaking the silence with a nervous laugh. "Well, we should probably finish up before these two turn into prunes," he joked, his voice a bit more strained than before.
Hermione nodded, grateful for the distraction. "Right," she agreed, her voice steadying as she reached for a towel. "Bath time's almost over, boys. Let's get you both dried off."
As she wrapped Harry in a fluffy towel and helped Neville climb out of the tub, it was then that she realised what had happened—her wet shirt was clinging to her in all the wrong ways, and the fabric was sticking to her skin.
Merlin's beard! She hadn't felt it sticking to her earlier as she was too busy being confused by Frank's antics, but now that she was moving about, she could see why Frank had been so flustered.
Her cheeks burned with mortification. Frank had definitely noticed her wet shirt. And he had reacted to it.
Shit, this is so embarrassing!
She quickly cast a Drying Charm on her shirt, her face still warm. Fortunately, Frank didn't look at her shirt again.
As the boys still had energy to burn, Hermione decided to do something fun with them. She remembered how Ron had taught Harry, Neville, Seamus and Dean to build blanket forts in the Gryffindor common room during their fifth year. He had claimed it was a rite of passage for them as they grew from boys to men. Hermione had had no idea what he had meant by that, but the memory still made her smile—the boys had camped out in the common room just to annoy Umbridge, and though Hermione had been nervous about it, she'd pretended not to know.
"Let's make a fort," she suggested, her voice filled with enthusiasm. The boys were confused, so she gently instructed them on how to bring the blankets and pillows for her. They wobbled about, giggling excitedly.
Frank, who had been watching quietly, joined in, helping them drape the blankets over chairs and the bed to form a makeshift tent. He seemed more relaxed now, the earlier tension from the Ministry long gone. He kept on glancing at her every now and then, as if he were searching for something. Hermione tried not to give him much of a reaction.
As they worked together, Hermione and Frank's hands brushed when they reached for the same blanket. Their fingers touched, and this time, Frank didn't pull away immediately. His touch lingered, and for a moment, their eyes met. Hermione's breath caught in her throat, her heart beating faster as she tried to understand the look in his eyes.
Then, as if realising what he was doing, Frank hurriedly pulled his hand away. He cleared his throat and stood up, the boys looking up at him with curiosity. A wave of nerves washed over her, but before she could say anything, Frank surprised her by not leaving.
Instead, he smiled at the boys and said, "How about a story? Would you like that?"
Neville and Harry both nodded eagerly, their eyes wide with anticipation. Frank hesitated for a moment, then sat down on the floor beside them. Hermione settled down too, her heart still racing from their brief touch.
Frank settled down beside the boys, his voice dropping to a gentle, nostalgic tone as he began to tell them a story. "There was a time," he started, his gaze distant as he recalled the memories, "when your mum, Neville, was the bravest person I knew. She was strong, fierce, and she had this way of making everyone around her feel safe."
Neville, his little face rapt with attention, leaned in closer, as if he knew who his father was talking about.
Frank smiled fondly, his eyes softening at the memory. "She wasn't afraid of anything. Not even the darkest wizards could shake her. There was this one time, during a mission for the Order, when we were surrounded. We were outnumbered, but your mum… she just looked at me, smiled, and said, 'We've got this, Frank.' And you know what? She was right. She always knew how to make me believe in myself, even when things seemed impossible."
Hermione listened in silence, her heart tightening with each word. Frank's voice was full of admiration and love, painting a picture of Alice as someone extraordinary—someone Hermione couldn't help but feel she could never measure up to. She knew Alice was brave, strong, and everything Frank described, but hearing it from him, in this intimate setting, made her feel small and inadequate.
Frank continued, unaware of Hermione's inner turmoil. "She had this laugh, too," he said, a faint smile playing on his lips. "It was contagious. Even in the middle of a battle, she could find something to laugh about. It didn't matter how dangerous the situation was; she'd find a way to lighten the mood, to remind us all why we were fighting in the first place."
Neville's eyes shone with curiosity, and he babbled as he reached up to touch Frank's face.
"She fought the bad men for you," Frank confirmed, his voice filled with pride. "She was fearless, Neville. She fought because she believed in a better world, one where you could grow up without fear."
Hermione swallowed hard, trying to push down the growing lump in her throat. She felt like an outsider in this moment, listening to Frank's beautiful memories of Alice. How could she ever compare to a woman like that? A woman who had faced the darkest of times with such courage and light?
Frank's gaze softened further as he looked at his son. "Your mum loved you more than anything, Neville. She always said that you were her greatest strength. No matter how tough things got, she fought because she wanted a better future for you."
Neville smiled shyly, nestling closer to Frank, and Harry, too, listened with wide eyes. Hermione forced herself to keep a smile on her face for their sake, even though every word Frank spoke felt like a reminder of her own inadequacies.
"And you know," Frank added, glancing at Hermione briefly before turning his attention back to the boys, "she believed in kindness, in taking care of the people around her… It's a lot like what Hermione does for you two now. She's always making sure you're safe, just like your mum did."
Hermione's breath caught in her throat, her mind racing at the unexpected comparison. Was that what he really thought? Did Frank actually see her in the same light as Alice? Or was he just trying to reassure the boys? She couldn't tell, and the uncertainty gnawed at her.
Trying to keep her composure, Hermione gently tucked the boys in, her movements careful and precise. But inside, her thoughts were swirling with confusion and doubt. She didn't feel like she could ever live up to Alice's memory, no matter how hard she tried.
Frank's words lingered in her mind long after the boys had fallen asleep, and as she quietly left the room, she found herself questioning everything. Was she really doing enough? Could she ever be enough?