The morning had started with a heaviness that Hermione couldn't shake. Frank's words from earlier echoed in her mind, cutting deeper with each repetition.
I love Alice. I always will. No one can ever take her place in my heart.
She had told him she understood, but the truth was, she didn't. She couldn't. How could she? She had never known a love like that—one that consumed you so completely, even after death. But that didn't make the sting any less painful. She was hurt, and more than that, she was angry.
Avoiding Frank became her sole focus as the morning dragged on. She busied herself with Neville and Harry, feeding them breakfast, cleaning up the inevitable mess, and trying to ignore the tight knot in her chest. She couldn't even look at Frank when he entered the room; every glance in his direction felt like a reminder of something she could never have.
By mid-morning, an owl arrived with a letter from Kingsley. The neatly folded parchment invited her to meet up again. Normally, Hermione would've been glad for the distraction, but today, she couldn't muster the energy to go out. She was about to decline when Augusta, sharp-eyed and supportive as ever, noticed her hesitation.
"Why don't you invite him here?" Augusta suggested. "The Shacklebolts are a prominent family, and I know his parents well. Besides, this is your home now too, Hermione. I want you to be comfortable here. This can be the first step."
Hermione hesitated, glancing at Frank, who was lingering by the doorway. The last thing she wanted was to have Kingsley here, but Augusta's tone made it clear that she wouldn't take no for an answer. Reluctantly, she agreed.
When Kingsley arrived later that day, Hermione stepped outside, her heart still heavy from the morning's events, but she forced herself to focus on the present. Standing tall and composed against the backdrop of blooming flowers, was Kingsley Shacklebolt.
He greeted her with a warm smile, his presence instantly calming. "Hermione," he said, his deep voice a soothing balm to her frayed nerves. "It's good to see you."
"And you, Kingsley," Hermione replied, her own smile faltering slightly but still genuine.
They walked together along the stone path, the gravel crunching softly under their feet. Hermione pointed out a few of the plants Augusta had been tending to, and Kingsley nodded appreciatively, commenting on their beauty. Their conversation soon drifted to familiar topics—books they had both been reading, new developments in the magical world, and the latest breakthroughs in charmwork. The ease of their dialogue allowed Hermione to momentarily forget the turmoil roiling inside her. With Kingsley, everything felt simpler, more manageable. She could also easily separate the Kingsley of her time and this younger, relaxed version.
After a while, they found a bench nestled under a large oak tree and sat down. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves above them, and Hermione felt herself relax further into the conversation. Kingsley was a good listener, and more than that, he had a way of making people feel understood.
As their conversation continued, Kingsley's usual confident demeanor softened, and he grew quieter, more introspective. He paused for a moment, looking down at his hands before glancing back at Hermione. "There's something I've been meaning to talk to you about," he said, a hint of hesitation in his voice.
Hermione tilted her head slightly, curious. "What is it, Kingsley? You know you can talk to me about anything."
He chuckled softly, a deep, resonant sound that made Hermione smile. "I know. It's just… well, it's a bit embarrassing, to be honest."
Hermione raised an eyebrow, intrigued. Kingsley was one of the most confident people she knew. Seeing him flustered was a rarity. "Now you've got me interested. What could possibly embarrass you?"
Kingsley rubbed the back of his neck, clearly trying to find the right words. "It's about someone I… like," he finally admitted. "A woman. I've had a crush on her for a while now, but I'm not quite sure how to approach her."
Hermione's smile widened as she leaned in slightly, teasing him gently. "Kingsley Shacklebolt, nervous about asking someone out? I never thought I'd see the day. You come across as a really confident man."
He laughed, shaking his head. "I know, I know. It's ridiculous, isn't it? I've faced Dark wizards without blinking, but when it comes to this… I feel like a first-year again."
Hermione's heart softened at his vulnerability. She knew what it was like to be unsure, to doubt yourself when it came to matters of the heart. "Well," she said thoughtfully, "why don't you practice on me?"
Kingsley looked at her, surprised. "Practice on you?"
She nodded, her tone gentle but encouraging. "Yes. Pretend I'm her. Ask me out, just like you would if she were standing here. It'll give you a chance to get the nerves out."
Kingsley hesitated for a moment, then his lips curled into a smile. "Alright, if you insist." He took a deep breath, as if preparing himself for a duel, and straightened his posture. "Miss Granger," he began, his voice taking on a formal tone that made Hermione stifle a giggle. "Would you do me the honor of accompanying me to dinner?"
Hermione pretended to consider the offer, tapping her chin theatrically. "Hmm… dinner, you say? That does sound tempting. But what makes you think I'd agree to spend an evening with you, Mr. Shacklebolt?"
Kingsley grinned, playing along. "Well, I'd like to think my charm and wit would be enough to persuade you."
Hermione laughed, a genuine sound that bubbled up from deep within her. It felt good to laugh, to let go of some of the heaviness that had been weighing her down. "Alright, you've convinced me. Dinner it is."
They both laughed, the tension in the air dissolving into something light and easy. Kingsley's expression softened as he looked at her, his voice more sincere now. "Thanks, Hermione. I think I needed that."
"Anytime," she replied, her smile lingering. "But really, you should ask her out. You're a great guy, Kingsley. Any woman would be lucky to have you."
He nodded, seeming to take her words to heart. He then smiled and said, "Now, about that dinner—"
Their moment was shattered by the sound of heavy footsteps approaching them.
Frank stormed into the garden, his face flushed with anger. His presence was like a thundercloud descending upon them, dark and full of menace. Hermione's heart sank as she saw the fury in his eyes.
"What's going on here?" Frank demanded, his voice tight with barely restrained fury. He stalked toward them, his gaze flicking between Hermione and Kingsley with a dangerous intensity.
Kingsley, ever composed, rose to his feet but remained calm. "Longbottom, I was just—"
"Get out," Frank snapped, cutting him off. "You're not welcome here."
"Frank!" Hermione exclaimed, shocked by his outburst. "What are you doing?"
"I said, get out!" Frank's voice rose, the words vibrating with anger. "I won't have strange Slytherins around my son. What do you think you're doing, bringing men like this into the house with the children around? What will they think of you?"
The accusation hit Hermione like a slap in the face. Her cheeks burned with both anger and humiliation. "Men like this? Are you serious right now? Kingsley is a friend, and your mother agreed to this meeting! You have no right to kick out my guest."
Frank's glare didn't waver, but there was a flicker of doubt in his eyes—a momentary hesitation that only fueled her frustration. Kingsley, sensing that this wasn't his fight, nodded to Hermione, his eyes filled with understanding.
"I'll see myself out, Hermione. Thank you for the company. I'll see you soon, okay?" he said, giving her a reassuring smile before turning to leave. He paused only briefly to glance at Frank, his expression unreadable, before walking away.
Hermione watched him go, her chest tight with a mix of emotions. She turned back to Frank, her anger boiling over. "You had no right," she spat, her voice trembling with rage. "This is my home too, and you don't get to dictate who I can and cannot see."
Frank opened his mouth to respond, but she didn't give him the chance.
One step forward, three steps back. That was what was happening with Frank, and Hermione hated it.
Spinning on her heel, she marched back into the house, her hands clenched into fists. She found Augusta in the sitting room, calmly knitting as if nothing had happened. Ignoring Frank, who had followed her, Hermione spoke directly to Augusta.
"From now on," she said loudly, making sure Frank could hear every word, "I'll be meeting my friends outside the house. I don't want to cause any more 'disruptions' here."
Augusta looked up from her knitting, her sharp eyes flicking between Hermione and Frank. She sighed, setting her needles aside. "What did Frank do?"
"Frank," Hermione replied curtly, her voice dripping with frustration, "didn't like that I had a guest over."
Augusta's gaze turned icy as she looked at her son. "Frank," she said, her tone sharp as a blade. "Is this true?"
Frank shifted uncomfortably, but he didn't respond.
"I asked Hermione to invite her friend Kingsley," Augusta continued, her voice laced with disappointment. "And you had no right to make him feel unwelcome. This behavior is beneath you."
Hermione knew it was petty to let Augusta scold Frank on her behalf, but at that moment, she didn't care. He had hurt her deeply, and if his mother's disapproval stung, then so be it. She turned and left the room without another word, her heart pounding with a mixture of anger and sorrow.
As she walked away, she heard Augusta reprimanding Frank, her words sharp and unforgiving. Normally, Hermione would've felt guilty for causing tension between them, but today, she couldn't bring herself to care. Frank had made his feelings clear, and she couldn't keep putting herself in a position where she'd be hurt again.
As she retreated to her room, the ache in her chest only deepened. The weight of it all pressed down on her, making it hard to breathe. She had tried so hard to be strong, to not let Frank's words affect her, but she couldn't shake the feeling of rejection that clung to her like a second skin. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't escape the pain of being unwanted.