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Albus Potter had always thought his family were superheroes. He knew the stories about them all, of course. The whole wizarding world did. Three teenage best friends fought against the odds and defeated the Most-Evil-and-Dark wizard to have walked the earth. Then life moved forward. They had started jobs, got married, had children. That did not make them any less superheroes in his eyes, though.
His Dad still fought the bad guys every day at work. His Mum became one of the best quidditch players in the country. His uncles ran a joke shop that continued to bring joy to children and adults alike. His biggest superhero was his Aunt Hermione. This might have surprised most people given who his Dad was, but to Albus, Hermione Granger-Weasley was the ultimate superhero. Muggleborn witch extraordinaire who battled prejudice and won. A powerful, intelligent, passionate woman, who had climbed to the most powerful position in the Wizarding World.
It was a shame that her children did not see this.
An impatient sigh could be heard from the kitchen as Albus landed in the Floo, “Rosie, please, just help me with this. It has been a long day at work and Hugo is at Lysander’s tonight. I will make sure that he does the dishes tomorrow.”
Albus walked over to a large armchair in the corner of the living room and plucked a book from one of the shelves next to him. It was a book of Muggle fairy tales that he remembered his Aunt reading to all the children when they were younger. The book flipped open to one of his favourites as a child. His eyes lit in inspiration.
He decided that he would put his plan into action that night.
When Hermione Granger-Weasley woke the next morning, she was surprised to walk into the kitchen and find it spotlessly clean. Dishes washed and drying on the rack next to the sink. Surfaces wiped down. Floor swept and mopped, sparkling. She breathed a sigh of relief. She was dreading the task when she walked down the stairs that morning, as she was almost certain that her daughter had ignored her instructions the previous evening.
Every day that week, when Hermione walked down the stairs in the morning she found a different household task completed. Her laundry washed and dried on a rack. Her ironing folded in neat piles, ordered by family members and sorted by item. Floo powder topped up. Bookshelves dusted and in alphabetic order, just as she liked them. There was one morning that she came down to a cup of tea sitting on the kitchen counter, still warm under a stasis charm, made just the way she liked it.
A few nights later, Hermione was sitting up in her study going over proposals that she had been handed as she was leaving the office. When Rose had been born, she had made a conscious effort to be sure that she did not bring work home. She had also tried to be sure that she was home by a reasonable time to be able to have a healthy work-life balance. This did not always happen, especially now that the children were both at school. Engrossed in her work, she was surprised when the door to her home office opened.
There, standing in her doorway, was her nephew, “Oh, hi, Aunt Hermione.”
“Albus?” she raised an eyebrow at him in question, arms folded across her chest.
He looked at her sheepishly, “Sorry, I was just going to file your papers. I had seen that they were a bit of a mess when I came over to see Rose earlier.”
Her eyes widened, “You’ve been coming over every night this week, haven’t you?”
He nodded. “You do so much for all of us, and you’re always so busy. I heard you and Rosie the other day arguing and I wanted to help. You’re a superhero for everyone else, I wanted to be yours.”
She smiled warmly. Albus was the best of both his parents, loyal, quick-witted, generous. He had always been the most patient of the children, and she had an image of him sitting cross-legged on the carpet of the living room, looking up at her excitedly while she read from her copy of Brother’s Grimm.
“That’s very sweet of you, Albus, but I’m not a superhero. I’m just a witch.”
He just grinned at her and looked at her in a way that said, to him that could not be farther from the truth.