Hermione sat at the small table in the kitchen of Longbottom Manor, absently stirring her tea. The past few months had slipped by in a blur of routine, carefully maintained boundaries, and quiet moments that seemed to stretch on forever. Life had settled into a semblance of normalcy, at least on the surface. Every weekend, she and Harry would visit Frank, Neville, and Augusta at the manor. The boys, who couldn't stand being apart for too long, made it clear that living without each other—and without Hermione—was simply not an option. So, their weekends had become a regular part of their lives, an arrangement that worked for everyone. Or so she told herself.

Recently, Hermione had also had a heart-to-heart with Kingsley. After their drunken night together, they both realized that it was a mistake. They had decided to keep their friendship intact and not let a moment of weakness jeopardize it. Kingsley had since started dating someone else, and he was genuinely happy in his new relationship. They had both agreed that what had happened should remain a one-time thing, and they were now focusing on maintaining a strong, supportive friendship. Despite everything, it felt good to know that Kingsley was happy and that their bond was still intact.

Despite the visits with Neville, Hermione still lived in her own flat with Harry during the week. She valued the space it gave her, a place that was hers alone, where she could try to find her footing as a single mother. But as much as she tried to maintain that distance, it was hard not to notice how much Harry hated leaving Neville behind at the manor. How he would fuss and cry every Sunday night when it was time to go back to their flat, reaching out for his best friend as if his little heart couldn't bear the separation. And it wasn't just Harry—she felt it too, that tug of longing when they left. Because, if she was honest with herself, it wasn't just Harry who had grown attached to the life they had created at the manor. She had too.

And then there was Frank.

They talked like friends now, laughed like friends, and pretended that was all they were. But deep down, Hermione knew it wasn't that simple. Not for her. She had tried so hard not to fall for him, but every time she saw him interact with Harry—care for him, play with him, soothe him when he was upset—those carefully constructed walls began to crumble.

It wasn't just the big moments that got to her. It was the small things too. Like how Frank always made sure to include Harry when he played with Neville, treating both boys as if they were his own. Or how he would stop by her flat on the weekdays just to check in, bringing along something small for Harry—a book, a toy, a sweet treat that he knew would make the toddler's face light up with joy.

She had tried to remind herself that they were just friends. That Frank was still healing, just as she was. But every time she watched him with Harry, saw the tenderness in his eyes, the way he looked at her when he thought she wasn't paying attention, it became harder and harder to deny the feelings that were slowly growing inside her. Feelings that went beyond friendship.

To her, the small moments mattered more. Like that day in the park when Harry had thrown a tantrum after Neville was pushed over by an older child. Frank had knelt beside Harry, his voice gentle yet firm, distracting him with an apple slice until the boy calmed down. Watching Frank with Harry, Hermione felt a warmth in her chest that she hadn't expected. It was as if Frank instinctively knew how to handle the situation, like he was already part of Harry's life in a way that was more than just a friend.

And then there was that time in the garden. Hermione had been exhausted, trying to keep up with both Harry and Neville as they ran around. Frank had appeared beside her, out of nowhere it seemed, and without a word, he had taken Harry's hand, leading him over to the small flowerbed where Neville was examining a particularly colorful bloom. Hermione had watched from a distance as Frank knelt down with the boys, explaining the names of the flowers and showing them how to be gentle with the petals. The sight of him with both boys, so patient and caring, had made something inside her ache with a longing she wasn't ready to face.

Hermione shook her head, trying to push the thoughts away. She had promised herself she wouldn't get attached. She had promised herself she wouldn't let her feelings get in the way of what was best for Harry—and for Frank. But every day it got harder.

She thought back to the mornings in the kitchen, when Frank would make breakfast for the children. He would always sneak a slice of toast or a spoonful of scrambled eggs onto Hermione's plate, teasing her about how she never ate enough. She would roll her eyes, but there was something about those quiet moments—about the way he looked at her, so full of warmth and understanding—that made her heart skip a beat.

it wasn't just the conversations that stayed with her. It was the way Frank made her feel. Safe. Understood. Like she wasn't alone in this. And that, more than anything, terrified her.

Because as much as she tried to pretend otherwise, she knew she was falling for him. And that was dangerous. Because Frank was still so clearly tied to his past, to the guilt he carried for Alice. And she couldn't—wouldn't—be someone's rebound. She couldn't risk her heart, or Harry's, on something that might never be more than just a way for Frank to move on from his grief.

Yet, it was impossible to ignore the way Frank had become such a natural part of their lives. She remembered how he had stayed up late with her one night, after both boys had finally gone to sleep, helping her sort through a pile of letters from the goblins she had been avoiding. They had talked for hours, about everything and nothing, and at some point, she had realized how easy it was to be around him, how comfortable.

They had shared stories from their pasts—Frank's memories of being an Auror, his adventures with Alice, and Hermione's tales of Hogwarts and the war. It had been lighthearted at first, but as the night wore on, the conversation had turned more serious. Frank had admitted how much he missed Alice, how the guilt still haunted him every day. And Hermione had shared her fears about the future, about what life would be like for her and Harry, and how she wasn't sure she would ever be able to let go of the past.

In those moments, they had understood each other in a way that no one else could. But despite the connection they shared, there was always that unspoken boundary, the line they both knew they shouldn't cross.

Hermione sighed, leaning back in her chair as she sipped her tea. She had thought she could handle it—that she could keep things strictly friendly between them. But the more time she spent with Frank, the harder it became to ignore the feelings that were slowly growing inside her. Feelings that went beyond friendship.

She glanced up as the door to the kitchen creaked open, and there was Frank, with Harry perched on his hip and a smile that made her heart flutter despite her best efforts to stay composed.

"Morning," Frank said, his voice warm and familiar as he set Harry down. The little boy immediately toddled over to Hermione, reaching up for a hug.

"Morning," Hermione replied, forcing a smile as she scooped Harry into her arms. She tried to focus on the weight of Harry in her lap, the smell of his hair, the sound of his little giggles—but her thoughts kept drifting back to Frank. To the way he looked at her sometimes, like he was trying to figure her out, trying to understand what she was thinking.

Frank busied himself with making breakfast, but Hermione could feel the tension in the room, the unspoken words hanging between them. It wasn't like before when they were still figuring out how to be around each other after everything that had happened. Now, it was something else—something that neither of them seemed ready to address.

"Any plans for the day?" Frank asked casually, breaking the silence as he flipped a pancake onto a plate.

"Not really," Hermione replied, trying to sound nonchalant. "Just thinking of taking the boys to the park, maybe."

"Sounds good," Frank said with a nod. "Mind if I join you? Neville loves the swings."

"Of course," Hermione answered quickly, maybe too quickly. "The more, the merrier."

And just like that, they slipped back into the familiar rhythm of their lives. Pretending that everything was fine, that they were just friends who enjoyed spending time together with their children. But as Hermione watched Frank joke with Harry, her heart betrayed her, reminding her of what she was trying so hard to deny.

Things had gotten better, yes. But better didn't mean easier. And as the days passed, Hermione knew that she couldn't keep pretending forever. Something had to give.