1977 - Mid March - Dumbledore Manor
The sun had long set outside the manor, leaving only the soft twilight glow outside the windows. The kitchen was quiet, except for the crackling fire and rain tapping against the window. Hermione sat at the kitchen island, her fingers wrapped around a steaming cup of camomile tea, while Poppy fussed over her with a stern look.
Poppy pressed her wand lightly against Hermione's wrist, her brow furrowed in concentration as the golden light from the diagnostic spell traced the lines of her invisible pulse. Poppy cast a few more silent spells, nodding to whatever result they gave her. "Well, my dear, the worst of your injuries have healed remarkably well," she declared, giving the young witch a reassuring smile. "The multiple fractures throughout your body are fully mended, and the bruising has nearly disappeared. You've made a nice recovery."
Albus leaned against the counter, his worried eyes fixed on his daughter, who stared distantly into her steaming cup of tea. "Thank you, Poppy," he sighed when his daughter didn't offer another reaction, rubbing his temple. "Is there anything she should be careful with?" He was relieved that Hermione had recovered so well physically, but her hesitance to speak worried him for the health of her mind. He didn't know how to help her without upsetting her further.
Poppy looked up at him in understanding. She had been visiting every evening to check on Hermione's progress, and she had yet to hear the girl speak more than a few words. Not that she could blame the girl. Turning back to Hermione, she addressed her directly. "Take it easy for a while. No strenuous activities, and avoid spellwork that might drain your energy. You need to give your body and mind more time to heal."
Hermione glanced up, looking at Poppy before meeting her father's eyes for a brief moment. "I know." Her voice was raw and barely above a whisper. "It's just hard to sit still when there's so much to — "
"Absolutely not," Poppy interjected firmly. "You've been through too much, and your body needs rest." If she was surprised by Hermione's first words, she didn't show it. "As for your mind...," she hesitated, searching Hermione's face. "How are you feeling? Truly?"
Hermione's fingers tightened around her cup, and her shoulders tensed. The question lingered, and Hermione hesitated to answer truthfully. She knew her father was worried sick for her, and he was stressed enough as it was. Between the school, the order, and her recovery, he was spreading himself thin. "Some days are better than others," she admitted the truth, casting her eyes back down. She knew there was no point in hiding the truth; it wouldn't help anyone in the long run. "I... I still have nightmares, and I keep seeing their faces. I... I keep seeing my mum's face, whenever I close my eyes."
Albus' expression softened even further, a deep sadness engulfing him. He wanted nothing more than to make all her pain go away. He stepped closer, his hand warm as he rubbed soothing circles on her shoulder. "You've been through so much," he said quietly, feeling her lean into his touch. "You're safe here. I'll always be here. I won't let anything else happen to you."
Poppy tried to keep her eyes from watering at seeing the usually stoic headmaster so gentle. "Healing isn't just about the physical wounds, dear. It's about giving yourself the time to process everything," she added softly, her heart breaking for the young witch in front of her. "I will be back on the weekend to check up on you. For now, it's rest. No arguments."
Hermione watched the young matron pack up her things from the kitchen island, feeling a pang of gratitude. While she hadn't spoken to her much during the past visits, she was grateful for her time. Poppy's straightforward presence was a comfort she hadn't expected.
"Thank you, Poppy. For everything," she finally murmured, and the slightly older witch gave her a gentle smile, patting Hermione's hand. Poppy gave a short nod to Albus before leaving through the Floo back to Hogwarts.
"You should get some rest," Albus said softly, putting his arm around Hermione's shoulder and pulling her close.
"I'll head up to bed in a moment. Thank you for taking the time to come here today. I know you should be at Hogwarts," she replied, leaning into him and resting her head against his chest.
"I will always be here for you, Minnie. I'm proud of you, you know. You've come a long way in the past two weeks, and it isn't easy to be open and honest about our feelings," he said, squeezing her gently. She let out a shaky breath, leaning into his chest. "Minerva manages quite well in my absence, and while I won't lie to you that it has been rather hectic, I would never change a single thing about it. Making time for you and looking after you is never a burden."
"You're the best, but you already know that." Hermione chuckled, looking up at her father with a small smile. He kissed the top of her head before ruffling her hair. "Would you like me to help you back up to your room?"
"I'm fine. Physically all cleared to take on the stairs, I believe. Head back to Hogwarts, Dad. Try and get some rest yourself." The firm look on her face made him chuckle and hold his hands in defeat.
"Alright, take it easy, and I'll see you tomorrow evening." With one final kiss to her head, he stepped back from the kitchen island and turned to follow Poppy through the Floo back to Hogwarts. Before the green flames whisked him away, his eyes were fixed on his daughter, hunched on the stool, staring out the window.
The manor basked in the soft afternoon glow, soaking up what little sunshine the day had offered. Sunlight streamed through the large windows, casting a warm glow on the richly coloured tapestries lining the hallway. The silence of the manor was broken when Hermione's bare feet echoed softly over the old wooden floor, making her way down to the kitchen. She had heeded Poppy's advice from a couple of days ago and spent her time reading in the bay window of her room, soaking up the first rays of sunlight that Scotland had to offer.
"Bugger," she muttered, stepping into the kitchen with heavy breaths and trembling legs. Leaning her tired body against the kitchen counter, it took a couple of seconds to steady her breathing before reaching for the kettle. Her mission: a cup of tea. While she could have done everything with magic, she needed something other to do with her hands than turning pages in a book.
Holding the kettle under the water, her gaze drifted out the window, drawn to the familiar view of the garden at the back of the house. The little pond under the large elm tree, framed by a wooden deck, was home to a bench suited for a family of three. A pang of nostalgia tugged at Hermione's heartstrings, memories of simpler times flooding her mind.
She had spent countless summers with her mother and father sitting on that bench, reading books or telling stories of the world. She had run around with her father, collecting flowers from the surrounding meadow, which her mother would then weave gracefully into Hermione's dark curls. Hermione could almost feel the warmth of the sun on her skin and hear the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze when she thought about the last summer spent in the gardens.
Hermione was so lost in thought that she didn't hear the Floo activating or the heavy footsteps approaching. When a throat cleared behind her, she found herself flung back to reality, shoulders tensing at the intrusion. "I don't think you can drown a tea kettle,' he said calmly, but before he could finish, Hermione disarmed him with a swift wave of her hand. Her eyes were blown wide, and the fear that kept her up at night seeped into her body.
Caught off guard by her sudden movement, the stranger stumbled backwards as his wand slipped from his grasp. "Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you." He chuckled and raised his hands in surrender. With slow movements, to not scare her further, he went to pick up his wand from the floor, grinning when he had straightened up again. "You must be Hermione!" he exclaimed, excited, ignoring the way Hermione still eyed him suspiciously.
He stood tall on the opposite side of the kitchen counter. His lanky body was clad in dark purple ministry robes with an Auror badge attached to the front. The mop of bright orange hair was even messier than her own, and she wondered quietly if he even attempted to brush it once in a while. Laugh lines and freckles spilt all over his kind face, while his blue eyes screamed of mischief. Hermione couldn't remember her father ever mentioning him, but seeing as he was able to enter their home, he must be one of the Aurors working with her father.
Hermione internally dubbed him Ginger Snap, a fitting nickname for the bouncy redhead before her. He holstered his wand and placed various parchments on the kitchen island. "Mind if I take over?" he asked, gesturing towards the forgotten kettle in the kitchen sink, filled to the brim with water. Hermione hesitated and eyed him carefully before stepping aside and taking a seat, her tired body welcoming the comfort of the chair.
Waiting before she was seated, he tended to the task at hand. "I'm assuming you were boiling some water to make yourself a cup of tea?" He emptied the kettle without waiting for a reply, refilling it and placing it on the stove. "Unless you were trying to drown the kettle," he added and turned his head slightly to grin at her. Ginger Snap didn't seem to mind her silence as he chattered on, allowing her to remain quiet throughout their interaction, observing his every move with a guarded expression.
Hermione found herself captivated by his animated facial expressions and the enthusiastic gesticulations of his hands. It was as if he was trying to paint a picture of whatever story he was telling. She cocked her head to the side, following his every move as he told her story about how his twin brother, Fabian, had managed to burn water once. Before she could stop herself and snort escaped her, if he was surprised by her reaction, he didn't show it, continuing with the story as if she were an active participant.
"I know, right?!" he exclaimed, putting two cups on the counter. "I mean, who does that?" As soon as the water boiled, he filled the cups and turned around to face Hermione. With careful steps, he approached her and put one cup down in front of her. "Do you mind if I sit with you for a little while? I need to go over the new patrol schedules with the headmaster once he returns home." Without waiting for her reply, he sat down on the opposite side of the counter.
"You're Gideon Prewett!" she exclaimed suddenly with a raspy voice. It was finally her turn to be amused as various emotions flitted quickly over his face. Surprise, confusion, realisation, and finally embarrassment.
"Ah, right—I completely forgot to introduce myself, didn't I?" he asked, rubbing his neck.
"You did," she said, a small smile curling her lip. Relieved by her reaction, he bounced right back to his confident, carefree self.
"Gideon Prewett, Auror for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and proud brother to Molly Weasley and Fabian Prewett."
"It's nice to meet you, Gideon. As you already guessed, I'm Hermione. Hermione Katerina Dumbledore," she followed his introduction. He beamed at her response, glad that she felt safe enough to open up to him. "A tea lover after my own heart, I can tell. The only thing better than a cup of tea is a cup of tea while reading a good book in the library, though I haven't had much time for either lately," he chatted on.
"I've had more than enough time for reading and drinking tea," she suddenly huffed with an annoyed expression on her face. He knew why she had ample time to read and drink tea, but he wasn't sure if that was a topic best pressed tonight. "Is that the reason you wanted to drown the kettle earlier?" he joked instead, earning himself another small smile from her.
"One of many," she replied light-heartedly with a mischievous glint in her eyes, sipping on her tea.
"Well, should you ever feel the need to sabotage kitchen appliances," he said with a playful wink, "consider me your willing accomplice. I'm great at hiding evidence."
"Already corrupting my daughter, Gideon?" The deep voice of Albus resonated from the hallway, and Hermione turned to look at her father with a sheepish expression.
Gideon meanwhile went rigid upon hearing the familiar voice. He had been so absorbed in their conversation that he'd momentarily forgotten who her father was. "I would never, headmaster," he tried to answer seriously but failed and sent another wink in Hermione's direction.
"You haven't been my student for quite some time, Gideon," Albus chuckled. "I've told you before—just call me Albus." He stepped fully into the kitchen, his eyes crinkling as he saw Hermione smiling at Gideon's antics. He had listened to part of their conversation from the hallway and felt relieved that Hermione seemed to respond positively to the energetic redhead.
"Did you take it easy, Minnie?" He turned to his daughter, putting an arm around her shoulder in greeting. He knew she was growing restless being confined to the house and didn't want her to overexert herself.
"Of course, Dad. I merely left my room to make myself a cup of tea," she replied, squeezing his hand in reassurance. "Though, as you can see, Gideon kindly stepped in to help. He made me sit down while he prepared the tea and entertained me with stories of him and his twin brother. Something about burning water," she trailed off, feeling the laughter reverberating in his chest.
"I remember you and your brother had an unhealthy talent for burning things that shouldn't burn," Albus chuckled, stepping away from Hermione to give Gideon a pat on the shoulder. "What brings you by tonight?"
"Moody wanted me to go over the new patrol schedules with you," he said, pointing to the parchment on the kitchen island. "I offered to come by after a case came in that needed his attention."
"Would you mind reviewing them after dinner?" he asked Gideon, who looked at him questioningly. Albus decided to ignore the perplexed look on his face and turned to his daughter instead, his gaze softening instantly as he observed her. "Are you hungry, Minnie?" She seemed to have a little more colour to her cheeks, and her eyes held a sparkle that had been missing the previous weeks. Spending time with someone closer to her age, unbothered by who she is, might be the best therapy for her.
"Are you offering to cook Moussaka?" Her hopeful eyes turned fully to her father. He didn't cook often, due to his busy schedule, but when he cooked, it was like Christmas had come early for Hermione. Her eyes lit up, and her stomach growled at the mere thought of her favourite dish.
"You can cook?" Gideon blurted out before he could stop himself, his cheeks quickly flushing with embarrassment. Hermione couldn't help but chuckle at his sheepish expression.
Albus's eyes twinkled with mischief as he responded to Gideon's question. "I'll have you know I make an excellent Moussaka, Mr. Prewett." He tried to feign offence, but his face quickly betrayed him, too amused by the situation.
"Sorry, headmaster," he replied with a cheeky grin.
"No worries. You're staying for dinner anyway, so you'll soon know if I'm telling the truth," Albus waved him off, not expecting a reply.
Gideon hesitated, his smile faltering. "I wouldn't want to impose. We can go over the patrol schedule another time." He would want nothing more than to stay for dinner, but he didn't want to impose. In the few minutes he had spent with Albus and Hermione, he had learnt a side of the headmaster that he had never seen before, and it already made him feel like an intruder.
Albus brushed aside Gideon's weak hesitance with a casual gesture. "Nonsense, you wouldn't impose, right, Hermione?" He turned to his daughter, who merely shook her head. She had been sitting in amused silence, watching the exchange between them, and she could tell he still wasn't convinced.
"Stay for dinner, Ginger Snap. Your company would be most welcome," she said with a roll of her eyes, earning herself a confused look from Gideon. "Ginger Snap?"
"I had to call you something in my head until you offered me your name," she replied with a shrug as if it were the most natural thing. It turned out she had rendered Gideon speechless for the first time that afternoon.
Albus bustled about the kitchen; his wand orchestrated a symphony of culinary magic as ingredients flew from the storage cupboard to the stove. Hermione observed her father's culinary ballet with a fond smile.
After a while, she turned her attention to the parchment that Gideon had delivered. As she perused the contents, she sensed a pair of eyes on her and glanced up to find Gideon watching her intently. With a welcoming gesture, she motioned for him to take the seat beside her, and he did so without hesitation this time.
While Hermione flipped through the patrol schedule, occasionally murmuring questions to Gideon, Albus' gaze drifted out the window, where the setting sun cast a golden glow over the garden. His eyes settled on a familiar spot: the little wooden bench by the pond, where they had spent countless hours together as a family. Just beyond it stood a white headstone, marking the resting place of his late wife and Hermione's mother. The sinking sun lent an ethereal radiance to the stone as if it were aglow with memories and love.