1977 - Early April - The Burrow
Hermione sat hunched over the desk in her private study. Parchments were scattered between various open books on charms. Her brows were furrowed in concentration as her fingers, littered with ink smudges, carefully examined the golden coin she had been experimenting with. The edges of the coin glowed softly under the light of the fire. The sun was long gone, and Pippy had popped in to light the fire, muttering under her breath, though Hermione didn't let her focus slip.
She had spent the past hours tweaking the security charm she had altered, ensuring that only the owner upon touching the galleon would be able to decipher the message. It was tedious work—there wasn't a charm available that fulfilled all her needs, so she was forced to make her own adjustments. The progress was slow, and while Hermione loved a good challenge, she was growing frustrated.
She needed to recalibrate the layering of the charm.
She needed to—
A quiet knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.
She looked up, blinking, as Albus stepped into the study. He didn't say anything at first, taking in the cluttered desk, the open books, and her exhausted face.
"How long have you been holed up in here?" His voice was soft, but the look in his eyes was more than pleased.
Hermione stretched, rolling her shoulders. "When did you get home?"
"Deflection, Καρδούλα μου ," he sighed. "Even the brightest minds need rest." He studied her for a moment, shaking his head with fondness. "I got home a few moments ago."
"Do you take that advice to heart yourself?" Hermione knew she was being irrational, and yet she couldn't help but bite back at her father.
Albus stepped forward, carefully approaching her desk. He placed a hand on her shoulder and looked over the books laid out in front of her—Advanced Charms and Spellwork.
"She would have been proud of you, you know," he murmured, squeezing her shoulder.
Hermione's fingers tightened around the coin. She didn't need to ask who he meant. A lump rose in her throat before she could stop it.
"Of your mind. Your determination," Albus continued. "Of your heart." He hesitated. "And of your strength."
Hermione swallowed and placed the coin carefully on the desk. "She loved Easter," she said quietly.
"She did."
Her mother had always made Easter feel like something sacred. The veil between life and death was thinnest during Easter. We honour our ancestors and pay tribute to those we loved and lost , her mother used to say to her while gently brushing her wild curls from her face. She had learnt from a young age that it represents the balance between life and death. A balance that should be honoured in all aspects of magic. But there was no balance now. Only loss.
Albus' voice broke through her memories. "Molly Weasley invited us to the Burrow for Easter."
Hermione blinked, turning towards him with surprise. "Molly?"
"Well—Arthur extended the invitation during the last meeting. Molly thought it would be good for us to spend time outside the manor for a little while. Especially for you." His expression was careful, searching his daughter's face for any indicator that she might feel uncomfortable.
Hermione exhaled slowly. The Burrow. She had heard stories—from Gideon mostly. He always told her that it felt like coming home whenever he visited the Burrow. That the love Molly had for her family had shaped their home. Surely it wasn't a place for people who were lost in their grief?
"What—" The word catches, unfinished. Too much. Too soon. She swallows tightly, forcing herself to try again. "What do you think?"
"I think your mother would have wanted us to be surrounded by family… by love. She wouldn't have wanted us to be alone, surrounded by… this."
For a long moment, she simply sat there, staring at the fire, her mind wandering between longing and hesitation. The idea of stepping into someone else's home to celebrate a holiday that was so deeply adored by her mother so soon after she had been taken from them was almost unbearable.
And yet… The Burrow could be different. From Gideon's stories, the home was filled with laughter and love. She could be who she was; she wouldn't have to pretend. She could enjoy the holiday with people who loved life while still mourning her mother. Isn't that what Easter is about? Balance?
Hermione glanced at her research one more time, a hand running through her unruly hair. Her mother would have hated that she tried to distract herself.
Grief must be honoured, but never allowed to take root where love should grow , her mother had said softly, on an Easter morning long ago. Her hands had been warm as they guided Hermione's much smaller hands in shaping dough for Tsoureki, the sweet bread they made every year.
The words still held weight. Maybe she didn't have to be ready. Maybe stepping forward didn't have to mean leaving her mother behind. She would always be part of her and her magic.
"I—" She hesitated, lifting her head to turn to her father, searching his face for any doubt. "I think we should go."
Albus studied her, his blue eyes searching hers, and finally, his shoulders softened, and a gentle smile curved his lips.
"I'm glad you think so," he said with a twinkle in his eyes.
Hermione exhaled, rolling the galleon between her fingers one last time before setting it aside. "We should prepare some gifts to bring," she groaned after a moment. "Mother would be appalled if I showed up to a house without a gift!"
Albus' smile turned into a deep chuckle. "Molly will be delighted!"
Three days later, they stood at the edge of the wards surrounding the home of the Weasley family. The Burrow stood just beyond the hill; the only part visible was the mismatched roof and chimney, emitting soft steam.
Albus exhaled beside her, adjusting the deep blue cloak draped over his shoulders. "Well," he said, looking around in wonder, "shall we?"
Hermione's fingers curled instinctively around his arm, swallowing audibly. There's no point turning back to her books now, huh?
The firm grip Hermione had on her father's arm did not loosen as they made their way towards the house. The winding gravel path was adorned by odd lanterns and encased by the surrounding fields. A few birds could be heard, and as they stepped closer to the house, the laughter of children mixed into it.
"This is… interesting," Hermione said as they got a full view of the house. The Burrow. A leaning, lopsided structure that looked as though someone had simply stacked different floors on top of each other. She scanned everything with excitement in her eyes. The garden surrounding the house was wild but tamed, with gnome holes dotting the earth. The chimney let out puffs of white steam, and from somewhere inside, Hermione could hear the faint clatter of pots and pans.
It was nothing like Dumbledore Manor. But it did remind Hermione of the cottage in Greece. No grand gates, no towering spires of marble, or endless hallways. It felt so welcoming that Hermione thought she would pass out from the overwhelming feeling of longing.
She glanced at her father beside her. His robes, like hers, were formal, deep blue with silver embroidery, well-tailored, and made of the finest materials. He stood with grace, his usual quiet authority untouched by their surroundings.
"We look ridiculous," Hermione said after looking down at her own dress robes. She had never felt as overdressed as she did at that moment.
She barely had time to think of altering their looks when the front of the Burrow burst open with a bang, and her hand twitched instinctively.
A blur of red hair and loud voices shot out of the house, barreling toward them at full speed. The older boy skidded to a halt just in time, but the younger one didn't, nearly crashing into Hermione if his brother hadn't stopped him.
"Boys! If you knock someone over again, you're in serious—oh!" The woman's scolding tone immediately melted into warmth as she spotted Hermione and Albus. "Albus! And you must be Hermione! Oh, come in, come in—boys!"
She turned to the two boys, still standing in front of Hermione and Albus, staring at the young witch with big, curious eyes.
"Don't mind them, they're—" the woman tried to say but was interrupted by the older boy.
"Why are you wearing a fancy dress? Are you going somewhere?"
Hermione blinked. "What?"
"Are you a princess?"
"No—"
"But you're wearing fancy robes!"
"Do you live in a castle?"
"Can you turn into a dragon?"
Hermione opened her mouth to answer one of the many questions, only for the boys to dramatically gasp, grabbing each other's arms.
"Charlie! What if she's a fairy?"
The younger boy, Charlie, lit up with excitement. "Can you fly?"
"Do you have wings?"
"Oh, for Merlin's sake—boys, let the poor girl breathe!" Molly scolded, though her tone was more amused than stern.
As the boys immediately launched into protest about their mother's interruption, Molly stepped forward, smiling warmly at Hermione.
"As I was trying to say… Don't mind them. They've been bouncing off the walls since sunrise. I'm Molly—it's so wonderful to finally meet you!"
As Hermione went to offer a polite response, Molly reached out and pulled her into a brief but strong hug. Hermione stiffened for a fraction of a second—not out of discomfort, just surprise. It had been a long time since someone had pulled her into an embrace without hesitation.
"It's nice to meet you too, Molly. I've heard so much about you," Hermione replied, the stiffness from before slowly leaving her body. "And these must be Bill and Charlie." Just behind Molly, Arthur appeared with a small baby boy in his arms. "And baby Percy," Hermione said when she spotted the man.
"Albus, I didn't know you spoke so much about us," Molly joked, greeting Albus with a squeeze of his arm.
"Oh, that wasn't me. I'm sure you have your brother to thank for that," he replied, having watched the entire scene with amusement in his eyes. Molly didn't comment on his remark, merely raising her eyebrow.
"Welcome to the madness, Hermione," Arthur said with a smile. "I'd offer you a moment of peace, but I'm afraid we ran out of it once the boys learnt how to walk and talk."
Hermione found herself smiling, despite being overwhelmed. "Thank you, Arthur. It's good to meet you. You have a lovely home."
Arthur laughed, adjusting the little boy in his arms. "I imagine it's a bit different from what you're used to."
Hermione glanced around, taking in the homey clutter of the Burrow's porch—a pair of small, muddy boots, a knitted scarf draped over a broomstick, and a set of garden tools stacked in the corner.
"Livelier, that's for sure," she said with a genuine smile.
Molly ushered them inside, taking Percy from Arthur as he went to take their coats. "Bill, Charlie, stop pretending to be dragons and go wash up for lunch. When you come back, you can help set the table!" The two young boys ran off, rushing up a set of stairs out of view, though their laughter was still ringing through the house.
Albus had followed Molly further into the house, leaving Hermione a moment to breathe. Hermione took everything in, and for the first time since she had lost her mother, she wasn't stepping into silence. It was loud. It was chaotic. It was nothing like home. And yet… no one seemed to mind that she was here. No one treated her like a stranger. They just welcomed her in, as if she had always belonged.
Hermione stood in the small hallway momentarily, letting her eyes wander to take in the surroundings. The walls were lined with family pictures and drawings from the children in mismatched frames. The wooden floorboards creaked as she moved further into the hallway, following the scent of roasted lamb and freshly baked bread.
"There you are, dear," Molly said, seeing Hermione enter the kitchen. Percy, now comfortable in an enchanted rocking chair, gurgled happily as his mother dashed about the kitchen to check on the food.
Hermione studied the witch silently. Her ginger hair was a shade lighter than Gideon and Fabian's and fell in long waves down her back. She bore the same freckles as her brothers, but her eyes were green instead of blue. While she wasn't nearly as tall as the twins, she was just as slender as them. From what Gideon told her, she wasn't much older than them, and Hermione thought she even looked younger.
"Do you need a hand with anything, Molly?" Hermione asked, amazed at how the witch had complete control over the kitchen.
"No, dear. Everything is almost ready," she said with a smile. "Go have a seat at the table with your father. The children should be down any second now to set the table."
Hermione hesitated, wanting to offer help setting the table. She could tell that Molly had everything under control but felt utterly out of place. Watching other people work while doing nothing had always been challenging for Hermione.
"Best do what she says," Arthur laughs, returning to the kitchen. Passing Percy, he paused to smooth a hand over the baby's soft hair before gently guiding Hermione toward the long wooden table, where her father had already taken a seat.
The moment Hermione settled into her chair, a cup of tea was unceremoniously placed in front of her.
"Have some tea," Molly instructed, already fussing as she placed a firm but warm hand on Hermione's shoulder. "Honestly, you're too thin—have you been eating enough? Not to worry, we'll have you rolling out of this door in no time."
Hermione blinked, momentarily lost for words.
Albus, watching his daughter's reaction with silent amusement, took a slow sip of his tea. Her posture was immaculate—rigid, composed—but so out of place in the Weasley household.
"Relax, Minnie," he murmured, eyes twinkling as he set his cup down. "You're not at etiquette training."
Hermione's head snapped towards him, scandalised.
"Very funny, Father," she said, voice flat with mock betrayal.
Hermione was spared from further embarrassment by the sudden thunder of footsteps overhead. Before she could fully process the noise, Bill and Charlie stormed into the kitchen, skidding to a halt in front of their mother.
"All washed up! Look!" Bill almost shouted with excitement, showing his hands and arms while Molly pretended to inspect them critically.
"Passable," she murmured, making Bill giggle, before she turned to Charlie.
"And you, my little dragon?" At her question, Charlie opened his mouth to let out a roar, waving his hands at her dramatically. "Very nice and clean claws you got there."
Hermione and Albus watched the scene with amusement, the two boys breaking out in giggles, following their mother to the cabinet.
"They are adorable," Hermione said to Arthur, watching the boys take the plates and cutlery to the table.
"They have their moments," he responds with a laugh, looking at his sons standing before him as if they're ready to report for duty.
"Now, plates go in front of each chair, forks to the left, knives to the right," Arthur instructed, watching the boys half-listen as they started placing down the plates with such enthusiasm that Hermione thought they might break.
Arthur chuckled into his tea, exchanging an amused glance with Albus, who looked entirely too entertained. Bill placed the forks with precision, aligning them perfectly with a critical eye. All the while Charlie put the cups and glasses down wherever he pleased, ignoring all rules of logic.
At one point, Albus watched as Charlie deliberately swapped out Albus' knife for a spoon, running off and giggling to himself. Her father pretended not to notice and continued the conversation he had started with Arthur.
When the boys decided that the table was finished, Charlie pulled Bill on his sleeve towards Hermione. He climbed into the chair next to her, looking at her with bright, eager eyes.
"Herminnie, do you have a pet dragon?"
Hermione blinked and tried not to laugh at the mispronunciation of her name. "A what?"
Bill nodded along with his brother's question as if it was the most logical thing to ask. "A dragon. You said you don't have a castle, but you could still have a dragon."
"Or do you turn into a dragon?" Charlie's voice interrupted, even more excited.
"I'm afraid not," she replied, and Charlie looked genuinely disappointed. "But if I were to have a pet dragon, I would want it to be exactly like you."
"Like me? Really?" Charlie sounded thrilled at the prospect of that. "But—I don't even breathe fire!"
Bill turned to him, deep in thought. "But you do roar."
Charlie sat up straighter, nodding enthusiastically. "I'm still small. I can learn to breathe fire!"
Hermione looked slightly concerned at Molly, who had been half-listening while stirring a pot on the stove.
"Charlie Weasley, if I catch you trying to set anything on fire, you will be de-gnoming the garden for an entire week."
"What if it's accidental fire-breathing?" Charlie muttered, slightly concerned.
"Then just don't get caught," Bill whispered with a grin.
Molly narrowed her eyes but shook her head in amusement, returning her attention to the pot.
"If you don't turn into a dragon, what do you turn into?" Charlie looked at Hermione again.
"Yeah, you do seem like you'd turn into something cool."
Hermione blinked at the two boys, caught off guard. "Not everyone can turn into something," she said gently, but the two boys seemed to ignore her.
"A unicorn!"
"A hippogriff!"
"Or an owl. You seemed to be smart. Owls are very smart," Bill suddenly said, and Hermione did her best to not choke on her tea. Albus chuckled, and Arthur looked intrigued at the exchange.
"Well, Hermione? What do you turn into?" Arthur asks her with a playful grin.
Hermione tilted her head, eyes twinkling mischievously. "It's a secret," she whispered mysteriously.
Charlie gasped. "So she does turn into something!"
Bill turned to his brother with a look of determination. "And we will find out what it is."
Hermione laughed and looked up at her father, who watched her with a fond expression. Maybe coming to the Burrow wasn't such a bad idea after all.
Before the boys could pester Hermione more about her secret, the sound of muffled voices echoed from the living room.
Arthur glanced up from his conversation with Albus, smiling knowingly. "Ah. The real chaos arrived."
Molly sighed, shaking her head as she wiped her hands on a towel. The voices are growing louder with each passing second. Hermione's heart leapt in her chest at hearing their voices. When she agreed to come to the Burrow for Easter Sunday, she had hoped Gideon would be there too.
"Ow! Gideon, you great oaf, that was my foot!"
"Maybe step out of the way next time."
"Oh, forgive me for assuming you'd step out of the Floo like a normal person and not on top of me!"
"You assume too much."
Fabian's voice cuts through the kitchen loudly. "Molly, your least favourite brother is mean to me!"
Molly shook her head, looking at her guest with an apologetic smile, before shouting back. "You probably deserve it!"
Bill and Charlie immediately perked up at the voices, their curiosity about Hermione forgotten.
"They're here!" Charlie whisper-yells excitedly.
"Act normal," Bill told him, grinning from his seat.
Hermione watched the two boys while biting her lip to stop herself from laughing. Charlie nodded at his brother and promptly knocked a fork off the table.
Still mid-banter, Gideon and Fabian strode into the kitchen, focused on dusting soot off their robes.
"I swear, the Floo Network has a personal vendetta against me—" Fabian muttered, shaking soot all over the kitchen floor.
"It doesn't," Gideon cut him off flatly.
"Fabian Prewett! Is that soot on my kitchen floor?" Molly looked at her brother with a stern expression. "Do you want to be scrubbing it on your knees again?"
Fabian looked up at his sister with a sheepish expression. "Sorry, Molls."
Gideon, finally looking up from his robes, took in the scene before him.
His eyes landed on Hermione.
For a fraction of a second, he didn't move.
His expression didn't shift immediately, but something in his posture softened, the usual sharpness in his gaze giving way to something quieter, something almost… warm.
Then—so quick that it might have been imagined—the corner of his mouth lifted just slightly. A faint, almost unconscious smile.
It was there and gone in an instant, replaced by his usual effortless ease.
But Albus saw it.
Taking a slow sip of his tea, his eyes twinkled as he observed the exchange.
Fabian, completely oblivious to the moment, placed a hand over his heart dramatically.
"Well, Molly. You didn't tell us that we'd be in such esteemed company today," he said, looking at Albus and tilting his head in greeting. "Headmaster."
He turned his attention to Hermione with a sly grin. "And look! Mini-Dumbledore."
"It's good to see you, Albus," Gideon greeted, earning a shocked look from Fabian when he addressed him by his first name. "Hermione."
Bill and Charlie—who had been doing their absolute best to contain their excitement—visibly trembled with the effort.
Bill gripped the edge of the table like he was holding himself back from launching forward, and Charlie's legs bounced, his hands twitching in anticipation.
Fabian winked at them, and the dam broke. They exploded out of their seats so fast that Hermione had to steady little Charlie before he toppled over.
"UNCLE FAB! UNCLE GID!
The boys rushed to their uncles and clung to their legs, tugging and pulling for them to pick them up. Fabian leaned down to grab Bill, hoisting him on his hips, laughing along with the little boy as he shot rapid questions at him.
Gideon, on the other hand, gently picked Charlie up, and the little boy immediately grabbed his face between his tiny hands, whispering conspiratorially. "Did you learn how to turn into a dragon?"
Hermione watched the scene with amusement. Fabian was laughing loudly with Bill, trying to answer all of his questions, while Gideon's face was squished by Charlie, who wondered why his uncle was talking with a funny voice.
"Enough now, boys," Molly said, laughing at the display. "In your seats, both of you. Lunch first!"
Bill and Charlie groaned dramatically as their uncles took them to their seats like it was the greatest injustice of their young lives. Fabian looked at the table and the randomly placed cups and glasses. "Impeccable work, my young apprentice." The boys beamed at that and chattered with Fabian who took a seat between them.
Gideon, who had been watching his brother, shook his head with amusement and turned to Hermione.
"You surviving so far?" He asked her casually, but his eyes were searching her face.
"Barely," she sighed dramatically, but the corners of her mouth twitched with a smile.
Gideon huffed a quiet laugh, eyes lingering on her for a beat longer, before taking the seat next to her, pulling two glasses from the middle of the table towards them both.
Albus watched in interest as his daughter fell into conversation with Gideon, smiling at something he said. He had worried about all the chaos and noise the children brought to the table, but it seemed he underestimated his daughter's ability to adapt quickly. Her earlier reservation and stiff posture had slowly been replaced, and she lounged in her chair with relaxed shoulders.
Everyone had finally settled down around the table, and with a flick of her wand, the food that Molly had prepared flew over from the kitchen to settle in the centre.
"I hope it wasn't too forward of me, but I made Tsoureki," she commented, wringing her hands nervously. "I never made it before, and I don't know if it's any good, but I read that it's a traditional dish in Greece."
Hermione blinked in surprise, looking from Molly to her father to the perfectly baked bread.
"You made Tsoureki?" She asked with wide eyes.
Molly smiled warmly at the young witch. "I tried. I wanted you to have something familiar."
Hermione wasn't sure what to say at first. It was such a small gesture, but it meant the world to her.She made it for me.
"It looks perfect," Hermione whispered, looking at her dad quickly. "Thank you, Molly."
"That was very kind of you," Albus added, handing the plate with the sweet bread to Hermione, who broke a piece apart.
"Oh, nonsense, dear," Molly said, waving them off. "Eat before it gets cold!"
As everyone helped themselves to the food, bowls were passed around the table, and conversations were overlapping at every end of the table. Especially the children seemed to have trouble following one conversation at a time.
"How was your last mission, dears?" Molly asks her brothers after filling her cup with some water.
"Don't ask," Gideon said flatly, without looking up from his plate.
"Why not, Gideon?" Fabian cheekily asked his brother.
"Were there dragons?" Charlie butted in, his eyes big with excitement.
"No, but he made noises like one," Fabian laughed to Charlie's delight.
Gideon groaned and rolled his eyes, trying to ignore his brother.
"Herminnie, if Uncle Gid was a dragon, what kind would he be?" Bill asked her with a thoughtful look.
Hermione paused, her fork halfway to her mouth. She looked at Bill, who eyed her expectantly. "Hmmm. Let me think," she said, pretending to be as invested in the question as he was. "There are so many different breeds."
She looked at Gideon with concentration as he watched her amused. "I think your uncle would be an Antipodean Opaleye."
"Am I now?" He asked with a grin.
"I don't know that one," Charlie said, disappointment on his face.
"It's native to New Zealand. It is also a very loyal dragon, and I think that fits really well for Gideon, don't you think?" Hermione explained to Charlie, who followed every word she said.
Before Charlie could answer, Fabian snorted with laughter. "It's also considered to be the most beautiful dragon," he choked out, barely containing his joy, throwing Gideon a wink.
Gideon groaned under his breath. "I'll hex him," he muttered, casting a glance at Hermione, who was laughing without a care in the world.
"Herminnie doesn't have a pet dragon. But she said, if she had one, she wanted one just like me," Charlie proclaimed proudly, shifting the focus back to the children.
"That's right," Hermione confirmed and he puffed his chest out proudly. The adults around the table laughed at his antics.
Bill looked around the table, his eyes stopping on Albus. His brows scrunched together, thinking hard.
"Why did Uncle Fab call you the headmaster?" He asked with a serious look on his face.
"What are you headmastering?" Charlie piped up, not wanting to miss part of another conversation.
Albus looked at them with a twinkle in his eyes and a warm smile on his lips. "I'm headmastering Hogwarts."
At that, the boys stared at him with wide eyes, looking him up and down.
"Can I go to Hogwarts?" Charlie asked, earning himself an eye roll from his older brother.
"Of course, we will go to Hogwarts!" He exclaimed, throwing his hands up. "But we're too young. At least Mum says so."
"That is right. You have to be eleven to go to Hogwarts," Albus confirms, and the boys drop their heads, disappointed.
"That's so many years away," Charlie sighed, picking at his food.
"I'm sure you wouldn't want to be doing homework and attending classes just yet. There wouldn't be much time for playing once you're at Hogwarts," Albus said gently, and Charlie's face pulled a funny face at the mention of homework.
"Did you go to Hogwarts, Herminnie? Like Uncle Fab and Uncle Gid?" Bill asked, looking at Hermione with interest.
"No," she said, shaking her head.
"But you're a lot older than eleven," Charlie said with big eyes and a tilted head.
"I am," Hermione laughed. "But I didn't grow up in England. I grew up in Greece, and I was homeschooled."
"But why?" Bill asked. "If Mr. Headmaster is your father?"
"My mother was teaching me everything at home. She was living in Greece when I was a child," Hermione tried to explain.
"Why is your mummy not here now?"
Bill's question hung in the air, and Hermione's smile faltered for just a moment. The chatter around the table softened, and even Charlie, who had been mid-bite, looked up.
Hermione set her fork down gently, placing her hands in her lap, wringing them nervously.
The silence stretched—not awkward, but expectant.
Albus' gaze softened, his fingers tightening slightly around his cup. He was about to answer for her when Hermione cleared her throat.
"My mother passed away not long ago," she told Bill gently, who looked at her with big eyes and a frown.
Gideon stiffened beside her. Then, without hesitation, his hand found hers beneath the table. A simple, steady hold—not demanding, not forcing, just… there.
"I think she is still here," Bill said suddenly. "My mum always says that when someone passes away, they stay with us forever. Right here," he adds, pointing to his heart.
Hermione nearly choked on a laugh, biting her lip and quickly looking up to will the tears in her eyes away. Children had such an innocent way of looking at things. Bill had said it as if it was the most normal thing in the world.
"That's right. They do," she replied after a moment, her voice cracking slightly. She squeezed Gideon's hand tightly, taking a deep breath. His touch was like a fire burning over her skin, grounding her in a way she hadn't realised she needed.
The table was silent for a moment longer. Molly was about to apologise for her son's question when Charlie tilted his head, thinking.
"Does that mean that Herminnie's mummy knows when she doesn't finish her food?"
The table stares at him for half a second before the adults burst out laughing.
"You're a menace, Charlie. A sweet menace, but still a menace," Fabian laughs, ruffling Charlie's hair.
Molly, relieved at the shift, sighs. "That's all your doing, Fabian."
After lunch, they moved outside while Molly charmed the kitchen to clean itself up. The adults settled into various spots around the garden. Albus and Arthur sat on a bench in front of the shed and seemed to be deep in conversation.
Bill and Charlie, still brimming with energy, were chasing Fabian around the garden, their laughter reaching Molly, Gideon, and Hermione. The three adults found themselves sitting together at a small, rickety wooden table under the shade of a tree. A pitcher of chilled pumpkin juice sat in the centre of the table.
"Uncle Fab, the dragon must be defeated!" Charlie's shrill voice sounded around the garden as he ran after his uncle, wielding a stick like a wand.
Molly shook her head with a fond smile, setting down her glass. Percy was tucked into her arms, sleeping tightly.
"They'll tire themselves out eventually," she said with amusement in her voice.
"Fabian or the children?" Hermione asked with a dry voice.
Molly huffed out a laugh at that. "Both, hopefully."
"It's so nice to have you with us for Easter. We don't usually celebrate it much as it's mostly a muggle holiday, but I can never say no to one of Gideon's requests," Molly said with a fond smile to her brother.
Gideon looked like he was waiting for the ground to open up and swallow him whole, and Hermione turned to him with a questioning smile. "Your request?"
"You didn't know that it was Gideon's idea to invite you and Albus for Easter?" Molly asked, looking between the two adults, amusement in her eyes.
"Subtle, Molly." Gideon had become very focused on his glass, and his voice was flat.
Molly only grinned, entirely unrepentant. "I do try."
Gideon shook his head before finally looking at Hermione, his expression more open now.
"I just thought it might be nice," he said with a shrug, but his eyes searched her face. "You mentioned how you always loved Easter in Greece, and I didn't want you to be alone at the manor for it."
Hermione didn't know what to say to that. The idea that he'd… thought about her, about inviting her here, about making sure she wouldn't spend the holiday alone…
"That's very sweet of you," she said gently, giving him a small smile before turning her attention back to a grinning Molly.
"I never understood how witches and wizards don't celebrate Easter in England," she said with a frown. "I mean—I know we don't celebrate it for the same reasons muggles do, but in Greece, it's one of the most celebrated holidays of the year."
"It is?" Molly asked her, intrigued by her statement. She never knew that Easter had a magical connection.
"At least in Greece it is," Hermione replied with a shrug. "It's the time when magic is at its most potent for renewal, protection, and transformation. It represents the balance between life and death."
Hermione looked at Molly and Gideon, who watched her with wonder. "You never heard of that?"
"Nope," Gideon replied. "Is it tied to Ancient Greek Magic?"
"Not quite. It's said that during Easter the veil between life and death is thinner, making it a time for ancestral magic, protection rituals, or even restoring magical rituals."
"Greek witches and wizards adapted this ancient belief into their own magic," Hermione explained further as it seemed Molly and Gideon were really interested in it. "The fire of Hades, one of the greatest wizards of ancient Greece, burns brightest during Easter, making fire magic strongest for purification, renewal, or sealing oaths."
"I have so many questions," Gideon said, watching her with awe.
"What's fire magic?" Molly butted in, leaning forward on the table.
"Oh boy. You really don't know any of this?" Hermione looked at them shocked. What was fundamental information for her seemed to be abstract storytelling for them.
"Hades is one of those muggle mythicals, right?" Gideon asked.
"Hades is not a muggle myth. Oh dear," Hermione began, thinking of a way to break it down to the essentials.
"Those muggle myths about the gods? They were actually based on the greatest witches and wizards," Hermione explained. "Each had a magical speciality. Hermes? Master of magical transportation—Portkeys and Apparition come from him."
Molly's eyes widened. "And Apollo?"
"Master of healing and divination."
Gideon let out a low whistle. "That actually makes so much sense."
"And Hades?" Gideon asks.
"Hades was the master of death and necromancy. His fire is seen as a balance: destruction and restoration."
Hermione hadn't noticed Albus and Arthur joining them, but when she looked up, Arthur too was watching her with interest. Albus gave her an encouraging nod, a twinkle in his eyes.
"And fire magic is based on Hades?" Molly asked, leading back to her original question.
"Yes. It is said that the descendants of the great witches and wizards were blessed with their powers."
"That's amazing. Do any of them still exist?" Gideon asked excitedly.
Hermione fiddled with her hands, casting a glance towards Albus, who silently laughed at her expense. "They are very rare. At least those with actual powers," he spoke, seeing her pleading look. "From Hades directly, there is only one alive who wields fire magic as he did."
"That's you, isn't it?" Gideon asked with wide eyes, looking at Hermione's uncomfortable face.
Hermione shifted uncomfortably. She hadn't noticed how quiet the others had gotten, their eyes fixed on her.
"Maybe?" she offered weakly.
Gideon gave her a look. "That's not a no."
Albus chuckled. "It is not a no," he confirmed, eyes twinkling.
Gideon leaned forward, eyes narrowing playfully. "So, let me get this straight—fire magic is rare, linked to one of the most powerful wizards in history, and you just happen to be the only known person who wields it… And you're just casually shrugging that off?"
Hermione took a sip of her juice, avoiding eye contact.
"You make it sound like something amazing, while for me it's just normal. I grew up with that knowledge," she defended herself, looking to her father for help.
Fabian, having overheard Gideon's statement while dodging an attack from Charlie, stopped dead in his tracks.
"Wait, wait, wait—Hermione breathes fire and no one told me?!" His voice was loud and dramatic, but nothing compared to the two little boys. They immediately stopped chasing him, their heads snapping toward Hermione.
"YOU BREATHE FIRE?!" followed by "YOU'RE A DRAGON?" was hurled her way as the boys sprinted to their table.
Hermione nearly choked on her drink. "Oh, oh."
Charlie jumped up and down, tugging on Hermione's sleeve. "Can you set things on fire?! Do it! Show us!"
"Or can you only do it when you're mad?" Bill asked. "Should Uncle Gideon tease you so we can see?"
"Good question. Should I annoy her and test it out?" Gideon asked the boys, who nodded enthusiastically.
"I will set you on fire, Gideon," Hermione said with a raised eyebrow.
"Oh, this I'd like to see," Fabian butted in, throwing an arm around his brother's shoulder.
"How about we gather some wood to light a fire?" Albus asked suddenly, the excitement clearly contagious. "It's tradition to light a fire on Easter Sunday to honour the balance between life and death."
"Yes, yes, yes," the boys chanted, pulling Albus out of his seat and towards the woods. They pestered him with questions all while holding his hands. Hermione smiled at the sight fondly, remembering herself pulling her father along on one of her many adventures as a child.
The firewood was stacked, and the air was buzzing with quiet anticipation. Albus had Charlie hoisted up on his hips, and the little boy snuggled closer, his arms thrown around Albus's neck. Fabian was crouched low beside Bill, while Molly and Arthur stood behind them, Percy still wrapped tightly in her arms. Gideon stood next to Hermione, drawn in by an invisible force, and Hermione felt his presence before she even looked.
Everyone was waiting for her, but there was no pressure, no demand. Hermione cast one last glance at her father, who nodded encouragingly, before she exhaled slowly and closed her eyes.
She steadied herself, breathing slowly, feeling for the fire inside her. It has always been just beneath the surface, ready to burst. Her mother had spent countless hours with Hermione practising the summoning, guiding her in a gentle voice. It's part of you. Just like your magic.
The thought of her mother threw her off balance for a second, and she felt the panic rise inside of her. Images flashed through her mind, her mother's face pushing forward, and Hermione felt herself losing control.
She reached for him first.
It was instinct, not thought—her fingers searching, his own reacting before his brain caught up.
And now he couldn't seem to let go.
When he looked at her, eyes still closed, her face relaxed further. His fingers curled around hers, grounding her.
Hermione was still focused, her heart pounding in her chest. Steady. Breathe.
Her hair sparked at the edges, and when she opened her eyes, Gideon could see a flash of blue and silver. And then—
Silver-blue flames roared to life, engulfing the wood in an ethereal glow. For a brief moment, everything was still. The magic washed over them in waves, and a soft hum filled the air, like a pulse beneath the flames. Breathing in sync with the fire.
"That's not normal fire," Charlie whispered as he stared at the flames in awe, mouth hanging open.
Fabian swallowed hard while Bill gripped his arm tightly. "I feel that."
Albus watched Hermione with quiet pride as she stared into the flames. It was something deeply personal. This fire, the Easter bonfire, wasn't just magic. It was part of her. It was her in her rarest form.
Hermione was overwhelmed with emotions, watching the flames dance across the wood. She was acutely aware of Gideon's hand in hers. She hadn't let go, and neither had he. She didn't know if it was instinct when she had reached for him, but his touch had calmed her thoughts. Calmed her fire.
She turned slightly, her eyes meeting his. He was already looking at her. He wasn't teasing her, and he made no move to pull away from her. His expression was unreadable—but something in his grip told her everything. He wasn't afraid of the fire.
Their quiet moment was broken, their focus shifting to Charlie, who was still hugging Albus. "Can we touch it?"
"I'm afraid not," Albus said gently. "While it doesn't look like normal fire, it burns just like one."
"Why does it look like that?"
"It only looks like that one day of the year. Today," Albus replied gently.
"It's magic," Charlie whispered in awe, still looking at the dancing flames.
Hermione exhaled slowly, her eyes turning back toward the fire. The warmth of Gideon's hand still lingered in her palm. She didn't know what it meant, but for the first time in months, she didn't feel alone.