Neville had been surprisingly clingy ever since he had woken up. He had been literally clinging to Hermione's leg, and she had been dragging him around the house. When Harry had seen Neville clinging to her, he had started sniffling until Hermione had scooped him up onto her hip.
Now, both boys were clinging to her legs and refusing to let her walk like a normal human being. The boys had been full of energy all morning, and she knew they needed to burn it off. The expansive garden, with its rolling green grass and clusters of colourful flowers, was the perfect place.
"Nee, pway," Neville said hotly.
"Nymmy, pway!" Harry said just as demandingly.
"I—" The two boys scrunched up their faces, tears welled up in their eyes, and their lower lip trembled.
How—Merlin's beard! These two will be the death of me!
"Okay, we'll play, but let's go outside. It's such a beautiful day, isn't it? We'll play outside in the garden," Hermione said, hoping they would agree to it.
The two boys grinned and nodded, but they were still holding onto her legs. She sighed and waddled outside the door like a pregnant penguin, huffing and puffing dramatically. She grinned down at them when they giggled at her antics.
She would do anything ridiculous enough to make them laugh. Of course, she couldn't let them know about it. They might look innocent, but they had gotten surprisingly manipulative after they got together.
She opened the door to the garden and stepped out onto the lush lawn. The warm afternoon sun bathed the garden in a golden glow, the scent of blooming flowers mingling with the crisp air.
As soon as she set them down, both toddlers took off, their chubby legs moving as fast as they could manage. Harry's black hair gleamed in the sunlight as he toddled after a fluttering butterfly, while Neville made a beeline for a cluster of daisies, his little fingers reaching out to grasp them. Hermione chuckled, keeping a watchful eye on them as they explored.
"Not in the flowers, Neville," she gently called out, stepping over to redirect him before he could trample the daisies. "Mrs. Longbottom wouldn't like that, would she?"
Neville looked up at her with wide, innocent eyes, then glanced at the flowers as if just realising what he was about to do. With a tiny nod, he veered off to chase after Harry instead. The two boys giggled and babbled to each other in their own language, occasionally looking back at Hermione as if to make sure she was still there.
For a while, Hermione let them run wild, their laughter filling the air as they played. She marvelled at how carefree they were, so full of life and unburdened by the weight of the world. It was moments like these that made everything worth it—every struggle, every sacrifice. But it also brought a pang of sorrow to her heart, knowing that their innocent world was so fragile.
Eventually, their boundless energy began to wane. Harry plopped down onto the grass, rubbing his tired eyes with small fists, while Neville wandered back toward Hermione, his steps slower now.
"Stowy?" Neville asked, looking up at her with hopeful eyes.
Hermione's heart melted at the request. She knelt down to his level and smiled, brushing a stray curl from his forehead. "A story, hmm? Alright, let's find a nice spot first."
She gently lifted Neville into her arms and carried him over to a soft patch of grass near a shady tree. Sitting down, she cradled him in her lap, then turned her gaze to Harry, who was still sitting a little way off.
"Harry, come here, sweetheart," she called softly, patting the space beside her.
Harry looked up, blinking sleepily, then pushed himself up and toddled over. He plopped down beside her, his head resting against her arm, while Neville snuggled close on the other side. With both boys nestled against her, Hermione felt a rush of warmth and contentment.
"Alright, my little adventurers, I'm going to tell you a story," she began, her voice soft and soothing. "It's a story about a very brave young boy who became a hero. He wasn't very big or strong at first, but he had a heart full of courage."
Neville looked up at her with wide eyes, while Harry's thumb found its way into his mouth as he listened intently.
"There was once a young boy named... well, let's call him the Snake Slayer," Hermione said with a small smile, recalling the real events but simplifying them for her young audience. "The Snake Slayer was just like you two—kind, gentle, and sometimes a little bit scared. But one day, he had to face something very, very dangerous—a giant snake."
Neville's eyes widened even more, and Harry's little hand clutched at her robes.
"The giant snake was very scary, and everyone else was too afraid to go near it. But the Snake Slayer knew that he had to be brave, not just for himself, but for everyone else too. So, with a special sword in his hand—a sword that only someone truly brave could use—he faced the snake all by himself."
Hermione paused for a moment, letting the boys absorb the story, their innocent faces filled with wonder.
"The Snake Slayer didn't think about how scared he was. He didn't think about running away. All he thought about was protecting the people he cared about. And do you know what happened?"
Both boys shook their heads, eyes locked on her.
"He defeated the giant snake," Hermione whispered, her voice full of admiration. "He saved everyone, and from that day on, he was known as a true hero. But even though he was so brave and strong, he never forgot to be kind. That's what made him truly special."
Neville looked up at her with something like awe, as if the story had struck a chord deep within him, even at such a young age. Harry cuddled closer, a small yawn escaping his lips as he rested his head against her chest.
Hermione wrapped her arms around the boys, holding them close as they began to drift off to sleep. As she sat there, under the shade of the tree with the two children snuggled against her, she thought about the future—their future—and hoped that they would grow up strong, kind, and brave, just like the Snake Slayer.
She gazed down at them, a tender smile playing on her lips as she brushed a stray curl away from Neville's forehead.
Suddenly, a twig snapped behind her. Hermione's heart skipped a beat, and she turned her head sharply to see Frank standing there, his presence so quiet that she hadn't noticed him approaching. The memory of waking up next to him, their bodies close and comfortable in a way that had surprised her, flooded her mind, making her cheeks warm slightly. She quickly looked away, attempting to get up without disturbing the boys.
Frank stepped forward and gently placed a hand on her shoulder, stopping her from moving. "Don't," he whispered, his voice soft but firm.
Hermione froze, her breath catching slightly at the unexpected contact. His hand was warm through the fabric of her robe, and for a moment, she wondered if he felt the same flutter of awkwardness that she did. But when she glanced up at him, she saw that his gaze wasn't on her—he was staring at the two sleeping children with an expression she couldn't quite read.
The silence between them stretched on, broken only by the gentle rustling of the leaves and the soft breathing of the boys. Frank's brow furrowed, and after a moment, he spoke, his voice slow and careful, as though he was piecing together something important. "The Snake Slayer… was it… was it Neville?"
Hermione's heart skipped again, this time for a different reason. She looked up at Frank, seeing the quiet intensity in his eyes, and then she nodded. "Yes," she whispered, her voice barely audible as she confirmed what he had already guessed. "It was Neville."
Frank's expression softened, a mix of pride and something deeper flickering across his face. But he didn't press her for more details. He didn't ask how or why Neville would one day become the hero in the story she had just told. Instead, he simply nodded, his gaze still on the sleeping boys, as though seeing them in a new light.
For a moment, Hermione thought he might say something else, but then he straightened up, his hand slipping away from her shoulder. The warmth lingered for just a second before it was gone.
"I'll let you be," Frank murmured, his voice low. There was a hint of something unspoken in his tone, but Hermione couldn't quite place it. He gave her a brief, almost imperceptible nod, then turned and walked away, his footsteps fading into the distance.
Hermione watched him go, her thoughts swirling with the weight of everything that had passed between them—both spoken and unspoken. She glanced down at the two boys, still sleeping soundly beside her, and exhaled softly.
Frank had recognized the truth in her story, but he hadn't pushed her for more. That simple understanding, the unasked question hanging between them, spoke volumes. Hermione settled back against the tree, her mind still buzzing with the brief but intense exchange. She couldn't help but wonder what Frank was thinking as he walked away, leaving her alone with the boys and the knowledge of the future that only she possessed.