Hermione sat by the window, staring out at the garden. The ache in her chest had dulled, but it was still there, a persistent reminder of how things had changed. She couldn't shake the feeling of rejection, and the solitude of her room wasn't helping. She sighed, pressing her forehead against the cool glass.
The door swung open. She turned to see Neville and Harry toddling into the room, their little faces beaming with innocent curiosity. Harry was clutching his stuffed dragon, while Neville had his favourite blanket wrapped around him like a cape.
Harry approached first, his tiny hands reaching out to her. Hermione couldn't help but smile as she lifted him onto her lap. He immediately snuggled into her, his warmth comforting. Neville soon followed, climbing up beside her and resting his head on her shoulder. The boys didn't speak—at their age, they couldn't yet—but their presence was enough to soothe her frayed nerves.
Hermione wrapped her arms around them both, holding them close. "Thank you," she whispered, kissing the tops of their heads. "You two always know how to make me feel better."
They sat together like that for a while, the boys content to be near her. Their simple affection was a balm to her wounded heart, and for the first time that morning, Hermione felt a flicker of hope. Maybe things would be okay after all.
The door creaked open again, and Augusta Longbottom stepped inside, her stern expression softening as she took in the scene before her. "Hermione, dear," she began, her voice gentle, "I'm sorry for what happened earlier. Frank... he doesn't always handle things well. But I want you to know that it wasn't your fault. You're welcome here, and so are your friends."
Hermione looked up at Augusta, grateful for her kindness but feeling a pang of guilt. "You don't need to apologise, Augusta. It wasn't your fault. Frank... he made his own choices."
Augusta nodded, her eyes filled with understanding. "I know. But I do feel responsible, in some way. Frank hasn't been himself for a long time, and it's difficult for all of us."
There was a moment of silence as the weight of Augusta's words settled over them. Finally, the older woman smiled softly. "You know, sometimes when things get too heavy, it's best to take a break. Why don't you take the boys to the park? Some fresh air and sunshine might do you all some good."
Hermione hesitated. The idea of going out, of pretending everything was normal, seemed almost impossible. But before she could protest, Augusta added, "Frank will go with you, of course. For your safety."
The thought of spending more time with Frank after their argument was uncomfortable, to say the least, but Hermione saw the wisdom in Augusta's suggestion. The boys needed a change of scenery, and perhaps she did too. With a reluctant nod, she agreed.
"Alright," Hermione said quietly, brushing her fingers through Neville's hair. "We'll go to the park."
The walk to the park was awkward. Frank trailed a few paces behind Hermione, his presence a constant reminder of their earlier argument. She tried to focus on Neville and Harry instead, holding their little hands as they toddled along the path. They babbled, excited by the prospect of the park, their small feet moving with purpose as they led the way as if they had been there millions of times.
When they arrived, the boys immediately made a beeline for the swings. Hermione followed, her heart lifting slightly at their joy. She helped Neville onto one swing while Harry clambered onto another. They giggled as she gave them gentle pushes, Neville's laughter filling the air with a sound so pure and innocent that it momentarily washed away her worries.
"Wee-wee!" Neville yelled, trying to wave at Harry with one hand. He almost tumbled off the swing in his excitement, but Hermione steadied him just in time. He laughed and rocked back and forth, trying to get the swing to go faster.
Harry, on the other hand, was clutching onto the swing with both hands, his knuckles turning white with the effort. There was fear in his eyes, but every time he looked at Neville enjoying the swing, his grip loosened, as if he were soaking up Neville's courage for his own.
Soon, Harry was laughing too, his emerald-green eyes wide with delight.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Frank lingering by the bench, his hands shoved into his pockets. He looked out of place, his tall figure stiff and uncomfortable in the playful surroundings. For a brief moment, Hermione considered inviting him to join them but decided against it. She couldn't risk another confrontation, not when the boys were having so much fun.
But Harry had other ideas. The little boy, with his wide green eyes, looked over at Frank and let out a delighted squeal. He waved his tiny hand frantically, trying to get Frank's attention. "Wank-a!" he babbled, his voice filled with excitement.
Hermione looked away, hiding her snort of amusement behind her hand. Harry had probably called him Frank and not wanker like Hermione had heard, but it was still funny to think of her innocent, little Harry swearing at Frank.
Frank hesitated, clearly torn between staying where he was and responding to Harry's call. But after a moment, he gave in, walking over to them with a resigned sigh. "Alright, alright," he muttered, though there was a hint of a smile on his lips.
Harry reached out for him, and Frank bent down. His hand brushed against Hermione's as he lifted the boy into his arms. Hermione tried to ignore the accidental touch, but it was now engraved in her memory as if with a poker.
"What do you want to do, huh? Want to play?" Frank asked, his tone softer now. Was it because he was speaking with Harry, or was it because… No, Hermione couldn't think like that.
Sucking on his hand, Harry giggled in response, pointing toward the merry-go-round. Neville, catching sight of where Harry was pointing, clapped his hands in agreement.
Frank set Harry down and led both boys toward the merry-go-round. They clambered on with Frank's help, and he began to push them in gentle circles. The boys squealed with delight as the world spun around them, their faces glowing with happiness.
"Wee!" the boys yelled, their heads almost bouncing with the speed.
For a moment, Hermione stood back, watching the scene unfold. Frank, despite his earlier anger, looked different now. Softer. More relaxed. The tension that usually clung to him had melted away as he focused on the boys. He was smiling—a genuine, easy smile that Hermione had rarely seen.
After a few minutes, Harry called out to Hermione, his little hands reaching for her. "Nymmy!" he babbled, his bright eyes pleading with her to join in.
Frank stiffened, but he didn't say anything.
As Hermione slowly stepped forward and took her place on the merry-go-round, memories from her childhood flooded her mind.
She had always been fascinated by the colourful, spinning ride, watching from the sidelines as other children climbed on, laughing and playing together. But those carefree moments had never been hers. The other kids at school had often left her out, either intimidated by her intelligence or simply uninterested in befriending the quiet, bookish girl. Hermione had never been on a merry-go-round, not once. She had wanted to, so many times, but it had always seemed just out of reach, like so many other childhood dreams.
As the merry-go-round began to turn, the wind whipping through her hair, another memory surfaced—one that brought both warmth and a bittersweet ache to her heart. The one and only time she had ever ridden a merry-go-round before this day had been with Ron and Harry.
It was right after the war had ended, after they had defeated Voldemort. The relief and exhaustion was overwhelming, and they barely knew what to do with themselves.
That night, Harry suddenly decided they needed to celebrate. With a determination that surprised both Hermione and Ron, he grabbed them and apparated them to the nearest park in the middle of the night.
The park was eerily quiet, with no one around but the three of them. Moonlight glinted off the metal swings and the merry-go-round, casting long shadows over the empty playground.
"We're going to have fun," Harry declared, a rare smile lighting up his tired face. Hermione and Ron exchanged confused glances, but there was something in Harry's tone—something so insistent, so full of the need for normalcy—that they didn't question him. Instead, they joined him on the swings, laughing quietly in the stillness of the night. And then, for the first time in their lives, they climbed onto the merry-go-round together.
For a few precious minutes, they spun around and around, the world blurring around them just like it was now. It was one of the first moments since the war began where they had done something purely for fun, without any fear or tension hanging over them. There were no battles to fight, no dark lords to defeat—just the three of them, laughing and holding on as the merry-go-round carried them in endless circles.
It had been such a simple thing, but it had meant the world to Hermione. In that moment, she had felt free, truly free, for the first time in what felt like forever. The burden of the war, the constant anxiety—it had all melted away, replaced by the giddy joy of spinning through the night with her two best friends.
Now, as the merry-go-round spun beneath her, Hermione felt a similar sense of release. The wind in her hair, the boys' laughter echoing around her—it all reminded her of that night, of what it felt like to just be, without the weight of the world on her shoulders. And for the first time in ages, she let out a carefree laugh, just like she had with Ron and Harry just a few years ago.
But as the merry-go-round slowed, so did her brief sense of freedom. She glanced at Frank, who had been pushing the ride with a rare, relaxed smile on his face. Yet, when their eyes met, his smile waned, and his expression darkened. Hermione's heart clenched as she read the change in his demeanour, thinking it was irritation and anger directed at her. She quickly looked away, the joy she had felt moments earlier slipping away.
When the merry-go-round finally stopped, the boys tumbled off, giggling and stumbling as they tried to regain their balance. Frank scooped them up, one in each arm, and carried them over to the sandbox. He set them down gently, then crouched beside them, helping them build a sandcastle.
Hermione joined them, her heart swelling with warmth as she watched Frank interact with the boys. He was patient and kind, guiding them as they piled sand together. They worked in silence for a while, the only sounds the soft rustle of the wind and the occasional giggle from the children.
But as the sandcastle grew taller, Hermione couldn't help but glance over at Frank. His expression was peaceful as he concentrated on their task, his brow unfurrowed, his features softened in the afternoon light. It was a side of him she hadn't seen before—a side that made her heart ache with longing.
She wanted to see him like this more often, to witness the joy that flickered in his eyes when he was with Neville and Harry. Frank was lost in his grief, and she would never be the one to bring him out of it.
The afternoon wore on, and eventually, the boys grew tired. Frank carried them back to the manor, their little heads resting on his shoulders as they drifted off to sleep. Hermione followed behind, her heart heavy despite the lightness of the day. She had caught a glimpse of what could be—a moment of peace, of happiness—but it felt fleeting, like something she could never truly grasp.
As they arrived back at the manor, Frank gently laid the boys in their cribs, his movements careful and tender. Hermione watched from the doorway, her emotions swirling inside her. When he finally turned to leave the room, their eyes met once more. There was a brief moment of connection—a flicker of something unspoken between them—but it was gone as quickly as it had come.
Frank nodded to her, his expression unreadable, before walking past her without a word. Hermione stood there for a moment, watching him go, before turning back to the boys. She tucked them in, brushing a soft kiss on each of their foreheads.
As she left the room, she whispered a quiet goodnight, though she knew they couldn't hear her. The day had been filled with laughter and play, but the ache in her heart remained. She couldn't help but wonder if it would ever truly go away.