1977 - late March - Dumbledore Manor
"I've missed you," Hermione murmured, her arm tucked neatly in Albus' elbow as they walked side by side. The last few weeks had been hectic for Albus, and he hadn't had as much time to spend with Hermione as he would have liked.
"I'm glad I managed to get away for a while. I know it hasn't been easy for you," he said, the guilt gnawing at him. "I'm sorry that I haven't been home as much."
Hermione scoffed and waved him off with her other arm. "That's not what I meant. It's just… I've missed this." She gestured with her hand around them. He had shown up out of the blue that afternoon, home early from Hogwarts, and asked her to accompany him on a walk through the gardens. "It's been a while since we've done this."
"Quite right," he agreed. "We should do this more often."
Hermione watched him discreetly as they took the gravel path around the property, a small breeze dancing across her face. He looked even more tired than the last time she had seen him. While she sat at the manor day in and day out, she knew her father was most likely carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.
"You know, not every burden is yours to carry," she said after a while, squeezing his arm.
"If it were only that easy. The ministry has become unreliable; the attacks on Muggle-borns and their families are increasing, and nothing is being done about it." He tried to say it casually enough, but Hermione could hear the strain in his voice. "Most people try to ignore what is happening, and those that don't… well, are in the Order or fighting for Voldemort."
"There will come a time when people won't be able to ignore the problem any longer," she said, taking a small step away from him. She bent down to pluck a few flowers growing along the path, her fingers dancing delicately across the petals of some bluebells.
"Let's hope it won't be too late by then." Albus watched her with a gentle smile as she placed the flowers in her arm before resuming her position by his side. Seeing her like this made him think of simpler times—of days when Irene would pull Hermione into the fields, their laughter echoing through the gardens. He could still see them dancing through the flowers, carefree in a way that now felt like a distant dream.
"How is everything at Hogwarts?" Hermione asked, pulling him out of his thoughts. "Are the students affected by what is happening?"
"Not completely. The younger ones are blissfully unaware, thank Merlin. But the older students, especially sixth- and seventh-years, are tense."
Hermione waited for her father to continue. She knew how much he loved being headmaster, and knowing his students were affected was another burden on his plate she wished he didn't have to deal with.
"Slytherin and Gryffindor students are at each other's throats most days," he huffs with a dry chuckle. "More than they already are. They are so on edge that they take it out the only way they know."
Hermione frowned. "Maybe you should separate them in classes for the upcoming year," Hermione suggested with a knowing smile towards her father. "I understand you tried to promote inter-house unity by placing them in the same classes. But, with the current climate in the wizarding world, that's not what they need."
Albus hesitated, his expression softening. He had had this conversation before. Back then the conflict hadn't been as open as it is now. He had hoped that his students would be able to overcome their prejudice when Irene had suggested splitting them up.
Hermione continued, knowing that admitting his mistakes didn't come easy to him. "Besides, you should allow them to be children for as long as possible. They will have to be adults soon enough."
A small smile was forming on his lips, watching her say it so matter-of-factly. It was easy to forget that she was only 22 when she spoke with the wisdom of a 50-year-old witch. "That's what your mother said to me before the start of last term."
Hermione startled slightly. It wasn't like they never talked about her mother, but neither of them mentioned her quite so casually. Despite the ache in her chest at the sudden mention of her, she smiled at her father cheekily. "You did always say I come after her."
"That I did," he laughed, pulling her a little closer with his arm. "And I was right; you're just as levelheaded as she was. There is nothing better than a trusted voice of reason to set me straight."
They walked in comfortable silence for a while, enjoying the warm afternoon sun. Hermione absently played with the flowers in her arm while Albus seemed to be in a world of his own.
Her hand squeezed his arm to bring him back to the present. "What's new with the Order? Anything new for your communication issue?"
The compromised floo network was still a sore topic for Albus, and it had taken a few weeks for him to tell her about it. After the attack on Hermione and Irene, he felt it was his fault for not knowing about it sooner, no matter how often she told him that he couldn't have known.
"Arthur hasn't had a breakthrough yet, and everything we come up with isn't reliable," he explains with a frown. "Fireplaces are out, owls can be intercepted, and a messenger Patronus works only if it can be received privately."
Hermione chuckled at her father's expression, despite the seriousness of the conversation. "I can tell you would love nothing more than to research this on your own." He threw her a sheepish glance but didn't deny it. "You can't take on more than you already do. You're barely functioning as it is."
"I function rather well, thank you very much."
Hermione huffed, stopping her father along the path. "Dad." She took her arm from his elbow and turned to look at him, a stern expression on her face. "I don't even need Pippy to know that you're not taking care of yourself. I see what this whole war is doing to you. You don't need to pretend with me."
Albus exhaled slowly, his gaze drifting to the path ahead before returning to hers. "I'm sorry. I know… You're too perceptive sometimes." He pulled her back to his side, and Hermione grumbled as she fell back into step with him.
"I'll help you look into it. I have more than enough time on my hands, and you know I like a good research project," she offered after a little while.
"Are you sure? Poppy told you to take it easy for a while."
"I'm sure. You know I spend most of my days in the library. It won't be an issue, I promise." Hermione wasn't sure if he knew that she was brewing potions for the Order. She certainly hadn't told him, and she wasn't going to bring it up now.
Albus studied her for a long moment, his blue eyes searching hers. Hermione noticed the flicker of doubt that crossed his eyes for only a moment and squared her shoulders. This was a fight she would not back down from.
But before she could start her argument, he relented. "Alright," he finally said, though his voice held a note of reluctance. "I'll tell Arthur that you will help with the research. It will free him up to spend a little more time at home with his children."
"Now that all that is out of the way… What's really troubling you?" She asks suddenly as they approach the straight path leading back to the manor.
In that moment, Albus hated how she could read him like an open book. A deep sigh left his body, and Hermione could tell he was struggling to find the right words.
"You're right. There is one more thing I need to discuss with you," he began, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant. "I didn't know how to bring it up tactfully."
Hermione turned her head towards him. "What is it?"
"Alastor and Kingsley… They still have many unanswered questions about the attack. While this isn't an official investigation, they would very much like to speak with you." Albus paused, choosing his words carefully. "They visited the cottage shortly after you arrived at the manor, but they were unable to find anything useful… Alastor thinks it would be best to speak with you."
Hermione's heart tightened at the thought, and bile began to rise. A shiver ran over her body, and it became hard to breathe. Albus didn't push her for an answer. Instead, he continued to lead her up the path, giving her the time she needed to think about it.
"I understand," she said softly, not meeting his gaze. "You think it's too soon, don't you?"
He nodded, his eyes filled with concern. "You've been through so much already. I don't want to put you through this too soon."
She grabbed his elbow a little tighter, understanding his hesitation. She was getting better with every day, but the events still haunted her as soon as she closed her eyes. The night after her outing with Euphemia to Hogsmeade had been particularly hard on her.
"I'll do it, Dad," she murmured after a while. "If it will help them, then I think it's necessary."
Albus sighed, clearly torn about the situation. "What if it's too soon, Ducky?"
"What if it actually helps them to identify whoever did this to Mum?" She asked, her voice breaking a little at the end. Albus couldn't help the tears forming in his eyes. He wanted nothing more than to protect his little girl from all the evil in the world, yet here she stood beside him, stronger than ever.
"Do you think it would help if they could view the memories?"
"No!" Albus said with wide eyes. "Hermione, that's even more painful for you than simply recounting it out loud. You don't have to do that."
Hermione met his gaze. "You know as well as I do that it would probably be easiest for them. They might notice things that I didn't think were important, Dad."
Albus opened his mouth as though to protest but closed it again, the weight of her words sinking in.
"I know this is hard for you, and it's not easy for me either," she started gently. "If you weren't my father, wouldn't you agree that this would be the best way for me to help?"
"I suppose you're right. You always are. But… I thought I could shield you from everything, Hermione, even the world's darkest horrors. But this? This..." He let out a long breath, running a hand through his dark hair.
"I know," Hermione said quietly. "I love you for it, but I think I need to let the pain mean something."
They walked around the pond slowly, approaching the little wooden bench underneath the tree. "I'll speak with Alastor and schedule a meeting at Hogwarts for us," he said with a tight voice.
"Thank you." Hermione smiled at him sadly before stepping away from him, squeezing his hand.
Albus took a seat on the bench, while Hermione stood in front of her mother's headstone, the flowers pressed tightly against her chest. He watched her take a deep breath before crouching down and, with a wave of her hand, turning the flowers into a beautiful wreath, gently placing it on the grave. She lingered for a moment, staring at her mother's name etched into the white stone.
"It's beautiful," he commented, once she took the seat beside him, his arm around her shoulder.
"It is, isn't it?" She smiled up at him.
They sat together in silence for a long while, the steady rhythm of their breaths the only sound between them. Hermione's head rested gently against her father's shoulder, the weight of their conversation settling around them.
Hermione thought of her mother, of the love she had left behind, and the way it had shaped her and her father.
"You know," Hermione began quietly, her voice soft against the evening air, "I think Mum would have wanted me to do this. To not let fear control me."
Albus said nothing, but his arm tightened around her shoulders.
"I'll face it… for her," she whispered, though the words felt heavier than she expected.
Albus rested his cheek against her hair, a single tear slipping down his face, though he said nothing. He didn't need to.
After a long pause, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Then I'll be here with you. Always."