Monday, 18 April 1977 - 04:25 pm - Glenmoore Manor

The Glenmoore Manor library was quiet, except for the faint scratching of quill on parchment. Tucked into a corner, Hermione sat at a large wooden desk, its surface cluttered with parchment, scattered books, and a small pile of Galleons. The afternoon light filtered through the tall windows, illuminating her as she waited for Arthur to arrive.

During Easter Sunday at the Burrow, they agreed to meet today to go over her ideas for the communication issues. She had spent the last three days since her meeting at Hogwarts going over her notes, but the exhaustion from her sleepless nights made it difficult for her to fully focus. She just hoped that the Galleons she had so far would be enough for her and Arthur to work on.

Before she could dwell too much on what she saw as a lack of progress, the door to the library opened, multiple voices drifting toward her. Hermione looked up in confusion; the only person she was expecting was Arthur, and he said he would come straight from work.Maybe he ran into the twins on his way out?

When Arthur rounded the corner, Hermione rose from her spot and made her way over to them with tense shoulders. Accompanying him were Euphemia and another wizard. He looked around the large shelves stacked with books to the brim.

"Arthur," Hermione called out when they were only a few more steps apart. "Thank you for coming by. It's good to see you again."

The unknown wizard studied her with a keen look and—was that amusement? Hermione felt the weight of his scrutiny, but there was something warm behind it, as though he were already sizing her up for something great.

"Effie," she greeted the witch instead, a small smile on her face.

"I hope you don't mind the extra company," Arthur said with an apologetic smile. "Fleamont and I were talking during the last meeting, and he offered his help."

"So, you're the young genius Arthur keeps telling me about," Fleamont said with an approving smile. "And the one who, if I'm not mistaken, survived a shopping trip to Hogsmeade with my wife—an accomplishment in itself," he added with a grin at his wife, who simply rolled her eyes. "It's good to meet you, Miss Dumbledore."

Hermione's smile grew at the greeting. "Likewise, Mr. Potter. And please—just Hermione."

Fleamont inclined his head. "Then Hermione it is. Feel free to call me Fleamont or Monty."

"I'm dying to see what you've come up with, Hermione," Arthur chatted excitedly as she led them to the table. "You've been very secretive with your work so far."

Hermione tucked a stray curl behind her ear before gesturing to the desk and the collection of galleons. "I hope you won't be disappointed," she laughed. "It's rather simple really. I've enchanted these galleons to communicate meeting dates and times securely." She picked up one of the coins and held it up for them to see. "I've created three master coins. The serial number on those can be altered to show a date and time, and with the help of the Protean Charm, all other coins will mimic those numbers."

Fleamont, Euphemia, and Arthur looked impressed, exchanging glances. Arthur leaned closer, clearly fascinated. "And security?"

Euphemia nodded at his questions. "If someone were to steal one, how do we prevent them from reading it?"

"The first person to touch the galleon becomes its registered owner," Hermione explained, gesturing to a pile of neatly stacked coins. "The coin recognises the magical signature upon the first touch."

Arthur let out an impressed whistle. "That's brilliant, Hermione." The excitement on his face reminded Hermione of his little boys. "I'm far from disappointed."

"Is there a way for the owner to be notified of a new message?" Fleamont asked, walking around the desk and looking at the research Hermione had conducted.

"The coin grows warm with every new message," Hermione explained. "It stays warm until the coin has been touched by the owner." She walked over to him and pulled out a few parchments detailing the charm work behind it, handing them over to him. "The warmth should only be felt by the owner of the coin. I haven't been able to test it yet, but based on my research, it should work."

Fleamont tapped a finger thoughtfully against his chin. "You've been incredibly thorough with this, haven't you? What happens after the message has been received? Does it revert to the original serial number, or does the old message stay until a new one appears?"

Hermione had considered this before, but it was trickier to implement. "I've thought about it. I would want them to revert to the original serial number." She looked around for a different parchment as Euphemia and Arthur took a seat around the desk.

"It would mean temporarily cancelling the protean charm so that it can revert to its original state. But I haven't figured out a way to do that without permanently removing it."

"What if we don't focus on the receiving coin to cancel the message, but we link it to the sender coin?" Euphemia asked, looking deep in thought.

"That… that might actually work," Hermione breathed, her mind already racing with the implications. She had been so focused on modifying the receiving coin that she hadn't considered shifting the burden to the master. It was an elegant solution—one that simplified everything.

"Yes, I imagine if we could make the sent message conditional, we could work around tampering with the Protean Charm."

"Let's test the galleons as they are," Fleamont suggested, plopping down in the next available chair. "If they work, we can move to figure out the way about deleting the message."

Hermione nodded in agreement and, with a pull from her finger, levitated one of the prepared coins in front of Arthur on the table. "This is a receiving coin."

"Once I touch it, it should register my magical signature," Arthur said, his fingers reaching out to touch the coin. He wasn't sure what he expected, but when nothing happened, he looked to Hermione with a frown.

Hermione chuckled at his disappointed look but quickly grabbed her master coin from the table. "Place your galleon back on the table, Arthur." He did as she asked and watched her move her fingers over her coin.

"I just sent a message through my coin," she explained, looking at Euphemia, who nodded and went to grab Arthur's galleon from the desk.

"Feels normal. No increased temperature," she analysed, turning it over in her hands a couple of times.

Fleamont leaned in. "Can you read the message?"

Euphemia shook her head. "Nothing. It looks like an ordinary serial number to me."

Arthur held his hand out to Euphemia with a gleam in his eyes. She smirked and raised her eyebrow and very slowly handed the coin over to him. The moment the coin touched his palm, Arthur's grin widened. "Oh yes—definitely warm."

He squeezed it a little longer and then, for good measure, placed it in his other hand. "It's not burning hot but warm enough to make you aware," he said with an approving nod. He squinted his eyes at the coin, smiling as he read today's date and time off where the serial number would normally be.

"This is working remarkably well," he appraised her with a proud look.

Euphemia and Fleamont looked pleased as well, scanning a few of the parchments laid out in front of them.

Hermione felt a quiet thrill of satisfaction. It worked. Not just in theory, not just on parchment, but truly, undeniably worked.

"In addition to the deletion of the old message, I had a few more ideas for security and would much appreciate your input," Hermione said, sitting down herself and handing out her notes on improvements.

"Check-in feature?" Fleamont asked, reading over several ideas. Hermione hesitated and cleared her throat.

"Yes. I was thinking that if the owner of the coin hadn't made contact with it within a certain amount of time, the coin would automatically reappear at a safe location here at the manor."

"That is a good idea," Euphemia said with a serious face. "It would not only protect the communication method, but it could also provide us with information should someone be compromised or... worse."

"This could also be linked to the fifth point on your list: Tampering," Arthur nodded, looking over the list more closely. "If anyone tampered with the charms, instead of self-destructing, the coin could simply vanish and reappear here."

Fleamont looked thoughtful before he turned to them. "I know it's not something we wish to consider, but in case of death, the coin should also be returned here. It should be able to register that the owner's magical signature disappeared."

The weight of Fleamont's words settled in the space between them. The idea of a coin returning because its owner had died made Hermione's stomach churn. For a brief moment, she imagined what it would feel like to hold one in her hands, to know what it meant. She swallowed hard and pushed the thought away. There was no time for that now.

"You're right, Fleamont," she muttered, writing down some ideas. "We should think of a system for returning coins. We need to categorise for the cause of return to be able to assess the situation," she continued, looking around for another parchment. "Depending on the cause of the return, the action we'd have to take varies."

Hermione scribbled down their ideas and additions, tapping her quill against the parchment. She hadn't expected Effie and Fleamont to show up, but she was rather glad they did. She hadn't expected to work so well with them, but she did. War preparations were never enjoyable, but she found herself appreciating both their company and their brilliant minds.

She exhaled, rolling her shoulders, a quiet sense of accomplishment settling in. "That should do it. For now."

Fleamont stacked the parchments neatly. "A solid foundation. We can refine the rest soon."

"Good work, Hermione," Arthur said while standing up to gather his things. "I should head home before Molly starts worrying."

Euphemia and Fleamont chuckled at their friend. "I'm sure she'd appreciate the help with the boys during dinner."

They too stood, thanking her for her work, telling her how much they enjoyed working with her. "We'll leave you to your thoughts, Hermione." She smirked knowingly. "And, well… to whatever is coming."

Hermione frowned. Was that a warning or a joke? "What do you—"

The sound of boots thudding against the hallway floor made her pause mid-sentence. Loud, familiar laughter echoed through the air, accompanied by a dramatic, exaggerated voice.

"—I'm just saying, if we don't find her here, she's probably off plotting world domination."

"Or hexing someone," came the second voice, drier, more familiar.

Arthur grinned knowingly, stepping aside just as the library doors swung open.

Euphemia and Fleamont, who had just reached the door on their way out, barely had time to react before they were nearly run into by Fabian's enthusiastic entrance.

"Ah, Monty! Effie!" Fabian greeted with a bright grin, sidestepping at the last second with an exaggerated flourish. "Lovely running into you here. You wouldn't happen to be fleeing, would you?"

Fleamont arched an amused eyebrow. "A tactical retreat. I'd advise you to reconsider entering the battlefield."

Euphemia smirked. "Or at least tread carefully."

Fabian placed a hand over his heart in mock offence. "You wound me. I'm always careful."

Gideon, stepping in behind him, snorted. "That's an outright lie."

Arthur chuckled, clapping Hermione on the shoulder. "Well, I'll leave you to it. Try not to hex them too soon."

Hermione sighed. "No promises."

Monday, 18 April 1977 - 06:55 pm - Glenmoore Manor

"Look at this, Gid," Fabian declared, sweeping an arm around the room like an over-the-top stage actor. "Dear Hermione, drowning in books and parchment. Someone ought to rescue her before she starts growing roots."

Gideon smirked, stepping further inside. "She might not need rescuing. But you—" he clapped Fabian on the shoulder—"you might, if you keep talking."

Hermione stood with tense shoulders, gathering different parchments into a stack. With a wave of her hand, various books closed and started flying back to their respective places on the shelves.

One of the books shot past Fabian's ear, missing by mere inches. He jumped back dramatically, eyes wide, before turning to Hermione with an accusatory finger. "You did that on purpose!"

Gideon's gaze lingered. The small smile on Hermione's lips never quite reached her eyes. She looked exhausted, her hair wilder than usual, dark circles shadowing her pale skin.

His chest clenched as he thought back to the heartbroken look on her face when he'd found her outside at her mother's grave. He had held her and let her grieve without speaking a word. She hadn't needed his words—not that he could have found any to make it easier.

After he'd managed to get her inside, she had led him to her private sitting room. If the situation had been different, he would have teased her about her childhood pictures—about how her hair had somehow been even wilder than now, or about the missing teeth in some of them.

Despite the sheer number of bookshelves, her sitting room held many pictures, and in all of them, she was radiating joy and ease. Most of them looked to be taken in Greece, and many had her mother in them with her.

He understood Hermione's need to be close to her, and he hadn't hesitated to hold her until she fell asleep on the sofa, his arms wrapped around her, her face pressed to his chest. He only left when Pippy showed up and promised him she'd take Hermione to her bed and made sure she wouldn't wake.

Hermione's voice pulled him out of his thoughts. Hermione smirked. "If I meant to hit you, you'd know."

Gideon watched Fabian step closer to the desk to reach for one of the Galleons stacked neatly in the centre. Before he could touch it, Hermione slapped his hand away with an annoyed look on her face.

"Would you stop touching things that don't belong to you?" She said with a huff and levitated the coins into a small leather pouch. "I didn't know the Aurors paid you so badly that you have to pick up a galleon when you see it."

Fabian gasped, staggering back like he'd been mortally wounded, clutching his chest. "Ouch, Hermione! You wound me."

"I think your ego can handle it," she replied, rolling her eyes and placing the stack of parchment on the table.

Fabian ignored her and plopped down in the chair that Fleamont had occupied mere minutes ago, leaning back as though he owned the place. "So, tell us, what terribly important, undoubtedly world-changing work had you meeting with Monty, Effie, and Arthur?"

Hermione glared at him from the other side of the desk while Gideon watched the exchange curiously. "Nothing that concerns you yet."

"Which means it absolutely concerns me." Fabian grinned.

Hermione's eyes finally landed on Gideon as he chuckled at his brother's antics. She hadn't had a chance yet to thank him for looking after her the other night. There was so much she wanted to tell him, so much she needed to say. Part of her had hoped that the next time he visited the manor, he'd be alone.

"Fabian, leave the poor witch alone!" He sighed, running a hand over his face. "Pippy might revoke our dinner invitation if you rile her up too much."

"She would never! Pippy adores me!" Fabian declared, throwing his arms wide.

Gideon could only shake his head at his brother's theatrics. He stepped closer to Hermione, offering her a warm smile.

"We thought we'd stop by after work," Gideon said, his voice softer now, leaning forward slightly. "See if you'd be up for some company." He shrugged. "Pippy ambushed us in the kitchen. Fabian, as expected, weaselled his way into an invitation for dinner."

Hermione sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. "I suppose it's pointless to try and turn you away now."

Fabian grinned, already victorious. "See? She does love us."

Gideon huffed a quiet laugh, watching as Hermione gathered the last of her parchment. "We'll try not to be too much of a nuisance."

Hermione chuckled and leaned close to him. "It's not you I'd like to turn away," she mock whispered.

Gideon threw his head back, laughing loudly, while Fabian just looked outraged at her comment.

Before he could continue their back-and-forth, a familiar voice interrupted from behind him. "Dinner is being ready. Pippy will be very cross if yous make her wait."

Hermione turned just in time to see her elf already disappearing through the doorway.

Fabian perked up at her words. "Well, we can't have that now, can we?"

With a dramatic bow towards Hermione, he gestured toward the door. "Shall we?"

Hermione shook her head, exasperation on her face, but she didn't protest as Gideon linked their arms and they all made their way toward the dining room.

Monday, 18 April 1977 - 08:45 pm - Glenmoore Manor

The long wooden dining table was set with steaming dishes, courtesy of Pippy's relentless efficiency. The house-elf had clearly gone above and beyond, ensuring that her guests—however much of a headache they were—were well-fed.

Fabian wasted no time in piling food onto his plate, humming in approval. "Pippy, you absolute gem, remind me again why you haven't come to live with me and Gideon?"

Pippy, standing nearby with arms crossed, shot him a glare. "Because Pippy is no babysitter for loud, messy Aurors!" She huffed. "Pippy would be cleaning all day after you! No, no, Pippy stays here with Mistress Minnie!"

Gideon chuckled, cutting into his roast. "She has a point. Fabian's side of our flat looks like a troll threw a tantrum."

Fabian gasped dramatically. "How dare you? My side has a lived-in charm!"

Hermione, sitting between the brothers, watched the exchange with a smirk. "Is 'lived-in' code for 'disaster zone'?"

"I feel personally attacked." Fabian pressed a hand to his chest in mock devastation, then turned to Hermione with a cheeky grin. "First, you refuse to tell me about your top-secret meeting, and now you insult my impeccable housekeeping skills?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of her juice. "Can I really insult something that doesn't exist?"

"Hermione!" He yelped, looking for something to throw at her.

Gideon shook his head, grinning. "She's got you there, Fab."

Fabian let out an exaggerated sigh and turned back to his food. "Fine, fine. No one appreciates my brilliance."

Dinner continued in a lively manner, with Fabian providing most of the entertainment. He attempted to balance a dinner roll on his nose at one point, only for it to tumble into his stew, splattering broth onto his sleeve. Hermione snorted into her juice while Gideon shook his head, handing Fabian a napkin.

Through it all, Gideon stole subtle glances at Hermione. He loved seeing her like this—relaxed, at ease, and amused. There was a warmth in his chest every time she laughed at one of Fabian's ridiculous jokes. At one point, when she reached for the salt, their fingers brushed briefly, and though neither pulled away immediately, neither acknowledged it either.

"Alright," Fabian declared after polishing off his second helping of pudding. "That was magnificent. Pippy, my compliments to the chef!"

Pippy huffed, already clearing the table with a snap of her finger. "Pippy knows she is good cook. No need for silly Auror to say it."

Fabian clutched his chest again. "So cruel!" He glanced toward the clock and sighed dramatically. "Alas, dear friends, I must bid you farewell for the evening. Some of us have a girlfriend to entertain."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Oh? You have a girlfriend?"

Fabian grinned smugly. "I do indeed. Her name is Etta Fairbourne. She's brilliant, sharp as a whip, and actually laughs at my jokes."

Gideon snorted. "That last part is highly questionable."

"She does," Fabian said defensively. "She just also scoffs at me a lot. It's balance."

Hermione smirked. "Etta Fairbourne? She's in the Order, isn't she?"

Fabian nodded. "Yeah, she is. We've been together for two years now; we met three years ago after an Auror mission. She stitched me up at St. Mungo's, and I was so charming she couldn't resist me. She rolls her eyes at me a lot, but deep down, I know she's fond of me. Or at least, she tolerates me."

Hermione exchanged a look with Gideon, who shook his head in mock disbelief. "Poor girl," Gideon muttered.

Fabian ignored him, turning back to Hermione. "You'd like her, you know. She doesn't take nonsense from anyone. Much like a certain someone sitting across from me."

Hermione smiled. "I'm looking forward to meeting her one day."

Fabian grinned, satisfied. Then, as he checked the time again, he looked between them and smirked. "And unlike some people at this table, I don't spend my nights alone, pining over—"

Gideon threw a bread roll at him before he could finish, hitting him in the shoulder. "Leave," he deadpanned.

Fabian cackled as he rose from his chair. Before he could leave, he stepped closer and ruffled Hermione's curls playfully. "It was fun, Mini-Dumbledore. Don't let my brother bore you too much."

Hermione batted his hand away with an exasperated huff. "Goodnight, Fabian."

The room was noticeably quieter after his departure, the absence of his boisterous energy leaving behind a calmness that neither Hermione nor Gideon rushed to fill.

Gideon glanced at Hermione, his voice softer now. "Are you alright?"

She nodded, setting her glass down. "Yeah. It was a good evening."

He studied her for a moment, then smirked. "You really do handle Fabian well. He's going to love bothering you now."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I might just set him on fire."

Gideon smirked. "Bit extreme, don't you think?"

Hermione shrugged. "He'd probably just roll with it."

Gideon chuckled. "He'd call it 'character development.'"

"You don't have to rush off if you don't want to," she said, her voice quieter now. "I was thinking of having some tea before bed."

Gideon hesitated, glancing at the clock. It was a work night, and he had to be at the Ministry early. But the idea of leaving didn't sit right either.

"Yeah," he finally said, offering a small smile. "I think I'll stay for a bit."

Something in Hermione's shoulders eased, and she stood, nodding toward the hallway. "Come on, then."

Without another word, she led him towards her private sitting room.

Monday, 18 April 1977 - 10:00 pm - Glenmoore Manor

The fire crackled softly in Hermione's private sitting room, casting flickering shadows against the bookshelves. As she set about preparing the tea, the warmth of the space felt different—less like solitude, more like quiet company.

Gideon settled into the sofa, stretching slightly. "You really don't have to make a fuss," he murmured, watching her move.

Hermione glanced at him over her shoulder, a small smirk tugging at her lips. "I promised tea, didn't I?"

She carried the cups over, setting his in front of him before curling up on the sofa next to him. The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable, but it gave Hermione enough time to find her courage.

Hermione exhaled slowly. "I never properly thanked you."

Gideon raised an eyebrow. "For what?"

"For the other night. After Hogwarts. You stayed with me until I fell asleep." She hesitated, fingers tightening around her cup. "That meant a lot."

Gideon studied her for a long moment before reaching out, his fingers brushing softly against her cheek, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. "There's no need to thank me, Shortstuff," he murmured. "There never will be."

The words settled between them, and Hermione swallowed, suddenly very focused on her tea. His body was still leaning into her, their thighs almost pressed together.

Hermione liked the warmth of his body so close to hers, but she couldn't help but stiffen slightly. She was certain she should move, should put some space between them—but she didn't. Hermione could hear the steady rise and fall of Gideon's breath, while hers felt just a little too shallow.

Gideon's hand hovered for a moment, as if considering something. Then, with a quiet huff, he wrapped his arm around her, tugging her closer with a firm squeeze. He squeezed her shoulder until she started to relax. She tilted her head up and looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

He chuckled, squeezing her shoulder again. "You're not as unreadable as you think, Shortstuff."

"I'm just not used to people invading my personal space," she muttered, though the words lacked any real bite. She subconsciously snuggled closer to his side, his arm curled around her protectively.

Gideon felt her shift against him, and for a second, his fingers flexed against her arm, like he'd noticed, too. But if he had, he didn't mention it.

A long silence stretched between them, neither willing to be the first to break it. Finally, Hermione let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head. Gideon hummed in amusement, but something in his gaze lingered on her.

Hermione, feeling the weight of his attention, turned her head slightly to look at him. Their faces were closer than she'd realised, the firelight casting golden shadows between them. She should say something. Shift the moment. Do something—

He moved first, but only just. His thumb brushed over her arm, the slow, deliberate touch making her stomach clench unexpectedly.

Hermione swallowed, suddenly too aware of everything—of how comfortable he felt beside her, of how easily she had leaned into him, of how natural it was to sit here like this. She should pull away.

Gideon finally exhaled a quiet chuckle, as if reading her thoughts. "You don't always have to be so strong, you know."

Hermione blinked, caught off guard by the softness in his voice. She thought about brushing it off as she always did, but something in the way he looked at her made her pause.

Gideon just let the silence settle around them again. And then, finally, he murmured, "At least not with me."

Hermione's breath caught, but before she could formulate a response, he shifted back slightly, breaking the tension just enough to let her breathe. The moment passed, but not entirely.

She smirked, tilting her head as if regaining control. "And you don't always have to be so irritating, you know."

Gideon chuckled, finally releasing the breath he'd been holding. "I'll make a note of that."

His arm was still wrapped around her shoulder as he stared into the fire, occasionally taking a sip from his tea. Hermione relaxed at the comfortable silence between them, falling closer to his side, her head almost resting against his chest.

After a long moment, Hermione tilted her head slightly, studying him, the flickering firelight casting shadows across his face. He looked comfortable here, too comfortable, like he belonged in this room with her.

She almost didn't move. Almost let herself stay there, in the quiet, where nothing needed to be said. But then she forced herself to sit up, knowing he needed rest more than she needed this moment to last.

"You should get some sleep," she murmured, placing her empty teacup down.

"Yeah, I should." Gideon exhaled slowly, eyes flickering shut for a fraction of a second before he forced them open again.

He didn't leave right away. He stood slowly from the sofa, hesitating a moment, before he grabbed his coat from the armchair. Hermione followed his steps around the sofa, stopping just behind her. Before she could ask him what's wrong, his hand settled on her shoulder, his thumb stroking it lightly.

"Try not to miss me too much, Shortstuff," he chuckled and squeezed her shoulder one last time before heading out of the room.

The fire crackled softly in the quiet room. The space beside her felt colder than it should have. Hermione spared the space he previously occupied one last glance before heading to her room.