Hermione was kneeling on the playroom floor, trying to coax Neville and Harry into playing with their toys. The two boys were in a particularly restless mood, and every colorful block and stuffed creature seemed to bore them within minutes. She sighed, pushing her hair out of her face as Harry dropped his teddy bear for what felt like the hundredth time that morning.
"Come on, Harry, Neville. Look, your favorite blocks!" Hermione waved them in front of the boys, but they weren't having it. They just stared at her, uninterested, before turning their attention to the door as if waiting for something more exciting to happen.
Before she could figure out her next move, a soft voice floated in from the hallway. It was one of the house-elves speaking with Augusta.
"Happy birthday, Mistress," the elf squeaked. "Is there anything special you'd like today?"
"Oh, I don't need anything special, thank you," Augusta replied warmly, though Hermione caught the affection in her tone. "Just a quiet day."
Hermione's heart sank. It's Augusta's birthday?
She'd had no idea! Glancing down at Harry and Neville, she quickly calculated how much time she had to do something—anything—to make Augusta's day a bit more special. There were no presents she could give, nothing bought at least, but maybe… a cake? Yes, a cake would be a lovely gesture. She could handle that.
Determined, she scooped Harry into her arms and guided Neville along as they left the playroom and headed straight for the kitchen. Once there, she set the boys down and began rummaging through the cabinets, pulling out flour, sugar, and eggs.
The house-elves, who were busy tidying up, paused to watch her with wary expressions. They had grown used to her presence in the kitchen, but that didn't mean they approved. Still, they didn't protest as Hermione set about preparing to bake.
"Alright, boys," Hermione said, glancing down at the two toddlers who had begun to explore the kitchen with wide-eyed curiosity. Harry was reaching for a cabinet handle, and Neville was poking at a stray potato that had rolled out of the pantry. She quickly intercepted them, guiding them back toward the center of the room. "We're going to make a cake for Gran Auggie. You can help me, but you have to promise to be careful."
Neville and Harry looked up at her, their curiosity piqued. Harry tilted his head, while Neville sucked on his fingers, both waiting for instructions as if they were about to embark on some grand adventure.
Hermione smiled, feeling a bit like a professor again, though this time her students were much smaller and decidedly more chaotic. She handed Neville a wooden spoon, and he immediately began to wave it around like a wand, hitting the counter with a resounding thunk. Harry, meanwhile, eagerly accepted a small bowl of sugar, but instead of holding onto it properly, he tipped it slightly, and some sugar spilled onto the floor.
"Careful, Harry!" Hermione laughed, gently correcting his grip. "We need that sugar for the cake."
She started measuring out the ingredients, carefully explaining each step to the boys, even though she knew they didn't understand much of what she was saying. Still, they were engaged, and that was enough to keep them occupied—for now.
But it didn't take long for things to spiral out of control.
Neville, who had grown bored of just holding the spoon, began tapping it against the edge of the mixing bowl. The rhythmic clanging echoed through the kitchen, and soon enough, Harry joined in with his own contribution—banging the sugar bowl against the countertop, causing even more sugar to scatter everywhere.
Hermione couldn't help but chuckle at their enthusiasm. It reminded her of the way she used to help Harry and Neville during Potions class back in her time—guiding them through each step, making sure they didn't accidentally blow anything up. Only now, instead of cauldrons and dangerous ingredients, she was dealing with flour, sugar, and two very excitable toddlers.
"Alright, alright," she said, her voice light but firm. "Let's focus. Neville, can you stir the flour in this bowl? And Harry—let's see if you can add the sugar without spilling it this time."
Neville took his job very seriously, gripping the spoon with both hands and stirring with all the concentration his tiny face could muster. Harry, on the other hand, eyed the bowl of sugar like it was a precious treasure. With exaggerated care, he slowly poured the sugar into the mixing bowl—though a good portion still ended up on the floor.
"Good job!" Hermione praised, trying to keep the situation positive even as she mentally prepared herself to clean up the growing mess later. The kitchen floor was quickly becoming a war zone of flour and sugar, but she figured it was a small price to pay for the boys' happiness.
As she moved on to cracking eggs, she suddenly had an idea. She handed one to Neville, carefully holding his little hand around the fragile shell. "Alright, Neville. We're going to crack this egg together. Just a gentle tap, okay?"
Neville nodded solemnly, his brow furrowed in concentration. Hermione guided his hand to the edge of the bowl, and together, they gave the egg a soft tap. Unfortunately, Neville, in his eagerness, added a little too much force. The egg splattered, half into the bowl and half across the countertop.
Harry, seeing the commotion, giggled loudly and reached for his own egg. "No, Harry—wait—" Hermione tried to intercept, but it was too late. Harry smacked the egg against the counter with all the force he could muster. Eggshells and yolk went flying, and Harry let out a triumphant squeal, clapping his hands together.
Hermione found herself laughing, despite the mess. It was absolute chaos, but she couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth and nostalgia. It reminded her so much of her time helping her friends in school, the camaraderie they shared even during the most disastrous of lessons.
"Alright, Professor Granger," she muttered to herself with a grin, channeling her inner teacher. "Let's get this back on track."
She managed to scrape what was left of the eggs into the bowl, giving both boys a quick wipe-down with a dishtowel. Harry, of course, tried to grab the towel and use it as a cape, while Neville tugged at her sleeve, clearly impatient to keep stirring.
"Okay, Neville," she said, redirecting his energy. "Let's add the butter now. Can you help me with that?"
She handed him a small butter knife, which he grasped with determination. Under her guidance, he sliced the butter into uneven chunks, which they then plopped into the bowl. Harry, not wanting to be left out, grabbed a handful of flour and threw it into the mix—sending a cloud of white dust up into the air.
Hermione blinked through the flour, coughing as it settled over them. "Well, that's one way to do it," she said, laughing despite herself.
Neville, covered in flour and beaming with pride, stirred the bowl with enthusiasm, sending more flour flying in all directions. Harry, seeing the fun Neville was having, tried to grab the spoon from him. The two boys began a tug-of-war over the spoon, giggling and squirming as they struggled for control.
"Whoa, whoa! One at a time!" Hermione quickly intervened, laughing as she gently pried the spoon from their tiny hands. "Let's take turns, alright? Harry, you can stir next."
She watched as Harry gave the mixture a few half-hearted stirs, more interested in the clumps of flour on the counter than the actual cake batter. Neville, meanwhile, was reaching for the sugar again, clearly not done with his part of the job.
It was pure, unfiltered chaos—flour on the floor, sugar in the cracks of the counter, egg yolk splattered like a crime scene—but Hermione wouldn't have traded it for anything. The boys were having fun, and for a moment, she felt like she was back in those old Hogwarts days, working together with Harry and Neville to make something out of nothing.
And then, tragedy struck.
Harry yanked on her jeans. Hermione squawked and grabbed her belt loops. And Neville took the opportunity to throw his arms out for a hug. The bowl of batter flew through the air and landed on the ground with a deafening clatter.
Hermione winced and looked at the batter splattered all across the floor. She sighed and glanced at Neville, who looked close to tears. Leaning over, Hermione quickly hugged him. "Hey, hey, it's alright. There's no need to cry. We can just start again. See?"
Neville sniffled and blinked away his tears as Hermione began to gather the ingredients again. Just then, there was a commotion outside the kitchen. Frank's voice—low, irritated—echoed from the hallway.
"What's the point of telling me to come back if they won't even let me work?" Frank snapped. His frustration was evident in his tone as he approached, grumbling about the Ministry's decision to keep him out of active duty. "It's not like I'm useless. I can handle it… I'm not broken!"
Hermione flinched at his words, her heart clenching in sympathy. She was just about to move the boys aside, bracing herself for his mood, when Frank stormed into the kitchen. His expression was dark, and for a moment, it seemed like he was about to unleash his frustration on her and the children.
But before he could say a word, Harry, oblivious to the tension, scooped up a handful of flour and flung it toward Frank's feet. The small cloud of white powder hit the ground, puffing up in a gentle burst.
Frank stopped in his tracks, his anger evaporating into confusion as he stared at the mess by his shoes. Neville giggled, and Harry joined in, their laughter filling the kitchen. Frank blinked, then looked up at Hermione, who was trying very hard not to laugh herself.
"We're baking a cake," Hermione explained with a smile, her voice soothing. "For Augusta's birthday."
Frank's shoulders slumped slightly, the weight of his earlier irritation lifting as he took in the scene. "A cake?" he repeated, as if the concept was foreign to him at the moment.
"Yes, a cake," she said, handing him the bag of flour. "Do you want to help?"
Frank hesitated. But Harry, who had somehow decided that Frank was now his best friend, reached up and tugged on his sleeve. "Ep!" Harry insisted.
Frank let out a deep sigh, then nodded. "Alright, I'll help," he muttered, and Hermione handed him the task of adding more flour to the bowl.
With Harry in his arms, Frank carefully lifted the toddler so he could pour the flour into the mixture. But toddlers being toddlers, Harry got a bit too enthusiastic, and the next thing Hermione knew, she was covered in flour.
She froze for a second, then shook her head to clear the powder off her face, the flour falling in soft clouds around her. Frank, who had been watching the whole thing, chuckled—a sound so unexpected that Hermione's heart skipped a beat. It was so rare to hear him laugh.
"You've got a little something…" Frank gestured to her cheek, then, before she could react, he reached out and brushed the flour off with his thumb. His touch lingered for just a moment too long, and when their eyes met, Hermione's breath caught in her chest.
The memory of their kiss, of the way he had cupped her cheek, pulled her so close that their bodies were flush together, played vividly in the back of her mind. How would it feel if Frank just leaned in a bit more and closed the distance between them again?
The moment hung between them, charged with a sudden intensity that neither of them seemed prepared for. Frank was the first to pull away, his cheeks turning a faint shade of pink as he stepped back.
"Sorry," he mumbled, awkwardly shifting Harry in his arms. "I, uh… I should go."
"Go?" Hermione echoed, still trying to shake off the strange feeling that had settled in her chest.
"Yeah, just for a walk… clear my head." Frank gestured vaguely toward the door. "I won't be long."
Before Hermione could respond, Neville toddled over, grabbing Frank's pant leg and looking up at him with pleading eyes. "Dada?" he asked, pointing at the cake batter they were working on.
Frank hesitated, his gaze flicking between the door and the little boy at his feet. But then he saw Harry staring at him too, and his face softened.
"Alright," he finally said, his voice gentle. "Let's make the cake and go surprise Gran."
Together, they made their way to Augusta's room, the boys determinedly insisting on carrying the cake themselves. Hermione, not wanting to dampen their excitement, reluctantly handed them the plate. However, as Neville and Harry toddled forward with wobbly steps, she discreetly cast a levitation charm. The cake floated just above the plate, steady and secure, as the boys proudly led the way, unaware of Hermione's subtle assistance behind them. When they reached the door, Hermione gave Frank a questioning glance. He nodded, and she pushed the door open.
Augusta was resting in her armchair, a book in her lap. She looked up, startled but delighted, as they entered. Neville and Harry immediately began to sing a slightly off-key version of "Happy Birthday," their voices filled with childish enthusiasm and their words garbled.
Augusta laughed, her eyes misting with tears as she listened to the boys. "You sweet, sweet boys," she murmured, reaching out to hug them both as they tumbled into her lap.
Hermione set the cake down on the small table beside Augusta and handed her a knife. "Happy birthday, Augusta," she said softly. "I'm sorry I didn't have time to get you a proper gift."
Augusta looked at her, her expression softening. "This is more than enough, Hermione. It's perfect."
Hermione blushed, suddenly feeling a bit shy. "I just… I wanted to do something nice for you. I know it's not much, but—"
"Shh," Augusta interrupted, standing to pull Hermione into a warm embrace. "You've done more for us than you realize. Thank you."
As they hugged, Hermione felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. She blinked them away, smiling through the emotion. When they pulled apart, Augusta cut the cake and handed out slices to everyone. They all sat together, enjoying the sweetness of the cake and the warmth of the moment.
Later, as Hermione helped clean up, she overheard Frank whispering to Harry as he gently wiped crumbs from the boy's face. "She's doing great, isn't she, Harry? We're lucky to have her here."
Hermione paused, her heart swelling at his words. She glanced over at Frank, who quickly looked away, but not before she caught the faint smile on his lips. It was a simple moment, but it was enough to make Hermione feel a little less alone—and a little more hopeful.