Chapter Text
Dr. Elliot Granger of Weavewood Cottage, Brackenridge, used to be a big reader. Or so his daughter says. He cannot quite remember. There's not much he can remember to be honest; his past, even yesterday, feels like a dream and yet he plods on every moment, guided by instinct, feeling, and muscle memory. Instead of reading, he now takes up the large photo stack of photo albums that sit upon the mantle over the fireplace. He has a faint recollection of Anne, his wife, having said something about “mantles are for photos, Elliot, not albums”, but they had never gotten around to choosing their best ones to frame - somehow he knows this - and so, the albums stayed.
Dr Granger picks them up, and turns over the many smiling photos of Anne and him from their many trips over many decades - he cannot remember much of any of course, but even so, he finds it odd that there are no photos from Australia because he knows, oh so surely, did they not spend a prolonged period there? Why is there nary a momento to be seen from that time? His head throbs thinking about it -, the photos that capture the evolution of Hermione, his daughter, over the years, from the chubby baby to the fiery little girl and then … Hermione through her boarding school days and wasn't there some magic, surely there was — but not the happy kind with doves and rabbits and brightly coloured ribbons, because over the dismally small collection of photos capturing Hermione’s teenage years, he sees his outspoken daughter grow withdrawn, her smiles not reaching her eyes, and he feels in his heart, the pangs of old whispered worries between Anne and him, “is she not happy? Is she safe?”
Oh how his head throbs. He wishes he was still a reader; these photographs give him neither an occupation for an idle hour, nor consolation in a distressed one.
So by instinct, he moves to his computer; therein, in the folders of newer digital photos, each meticulously titled by year, month and occasion, he marvels how every time he automatically finds solace. Hermione stands between him and Anne, laughing as she cuts her 21st birthday cake; she reads a large hardbound book near the fireplace; she sleeps under the clump of apple trees at the gardens in Brackenridge Hall, her straightened hair - a short phase - falling over her eyes. He’s glad to see these photos. The past years have been kinder to his daughter, he thinks, although there still persists a shadow of sadness in her eyes. But she laughs more and he feels that - even if she continues to carry secrets, there are fewer of them.
For this, he’s also grateful to his neighbours over at Brackenridge Hall, The Thomases. They had newly moved to Brackenridge, some eight years ago, and it was their son, Dean Thomas, a fellow schoolmate of Hermione’s, who had found for both Anne and him the village dental practice that the previous local doctor was closing down. Dean was Mr Anthony Thomas’ stepson; Anthony and Maya Thomas also had three daughters, all of whom had immediately taken to Hermione. Over the years, the families had become close. Dean lived away, now married to another schoolmate, Ginny, a pretty redhead - Elliot oddly only knows of this description for he cannot fully recall her face, however much he tries -, but the Thomas girls were over at the Hall for their summer break. He smiles and closes the photographs. Hermione will have company when he and Anne take their annual three-month holiday to some part of the continent that he hopes - between his penchant for vague instinctual recollections and Anne’s curious way of wholly remembering people and places and practices but fully forgetting conversations (a trait that does not endear her to their patients) - they can have a complete picture of their time spent.
***
The Grangers visited Brackenridge Hall for dinner, soon after which the girls had dragged Hermione up to their rooms, leaving the two older couples in comfortable conversation in Mr. Thomas’ library. It was Mrs Thomas - with all the officiousness of someone used to having a lot to do, and suddenly finds themselves with a lot of time on their hands - who broached the scheme of a tenant for Weavewood Cottage when the Grangers were away for a holiday. Mr and Mrs. Granger could not react favourably. A tenant? Surely it was unnecessary, and what would Hermione say? So wary that she was of strangers.
“But this is dear Ginny’s brother. You do recall, that tall redhead-”
“Dear, they’re all redhe-” her husband begins to remind.
“Yes, but that twin. With both ears mind you, not the other one.”
“One day Anthony, I will read every book you have in here,” Mrs. Granger smiles at Mr. Thomas in an effort at redirecting the conversation. Her husband’s smile falters, he’s not sure he would remember them even if he did; she takes his hand, places it over her arm, and pats it reassuringly.
“Daresay your daughter already has, Anne.”
“She was planning to live at Weavewood, y’know.” Mr Granger tries again. “Give up her place, tend to the garden and all that, when we’re in Nice.”
“Elliot, there is nothing we would like better than to have her live with us in that time. We even have a direct floo- that is to say,” Mrs Thomas is at a loss for words. She rarely was, so Mr. Granger sits up straighter, the familiar, simmering, tension of having missed something bubbling up so violently he was surprised he was not yet sick all over the soft Afghan carpet.
“Is anyone unwell?” his wife enquires. So she had picked up on the ‘flu’ too.
“No, but it will help Hermione’s research to stay with us,” Mrs. Thomas says, firmly now. “And she will be closer to her work on the days she commutes. And,” she leans forward. From the years of knowing her, Mr. Granger knows she was finally to reveal the real reason for her suggestion, and relaxes. “The income from the tenant cannot hurt.”
There it was. A pause fills the room. Mr. Thomas shifts uncomfortably in his chair.
Mrs. Thomas - dear Maya, bless her heart - plods on determined. “If I could I would suggest leasing your clinic too,-- but it is so difficult, I must have asked everyone! And discreetly mind you, I did not advertise your plans or any of that, but Anne, Elliot, not many want to rent a house, let alone a dental clinic! For just three months, especially situated where we are, it was a no go - until Ginny called yesterday, and she says her brothers might have some use in the short term, for even the clinic perhaps! So you see,...” She lets her words trail and Mr. Granger can see. Maya Thomas had been interfering, but well-intentioned as always. Their practice was not doing well. Close friends such as the Thomases were, they were likely worried too. And probably facing a little misplaced guilt — after all it was Dean, their son, who found this practice for the Grangers, away from the hustle of the city, but with enough footfalls even so for a reasonably successful clinic. Or so they had hoped, but the past few years had not proved them correct.
But Elliot Granger knew. It was not Brackenridge, there was something fundamentally altered about his and Anne’s brains. Being dentists and keeping patients under such circumstances was difficult. The Thomases had some inkling of their difficulties, they must, anyone would, on close interaction with the Grangers — which was why Hermione avoided most people. He wished they did not have to take an expensive three month holiday. But Hermione was adamant. It would make them feel more like themselves, she insisted. He hoped she was right. Or they might have to close down the practice fully… and then what?
“Thank you Maya. Thank Ginny too." He says heavily. It was time for decisions of prudence. "We will consider this.”
***
“I want a three month vacay!” Daisy Thomas groans, burying her face into her pillow. Her voice comes out garbled. “I will never graduate at this rate. Hermione, lend me your brains, please.” She lifts her head up in crazed desperation.
“Don’t, Hermione. She’ll never return them.”
“Brenda, don't be horrid. It was one time, literally, ONE time. and I told you I looked everywhere for that boot-
“My BEST boots! I saved up AGES-”
“Lies, I know what Mama gave you for your birthday.”
Hermione laughs. She doesn't have to say anything because, well, the Thomases have enough to say all the time. Ginny once observed them and said, “Hermione you sure do like your families large,” and Hermione knows Ginny, knows it is not a pointed remark at her seemingly having replaced the Weasleys with the Thomases, missing every large Weasley gathering (with a certain twin in attendance, but it has been almost nine years and no one had figured that), knows it is not Ginny’s resentment at her sisters-in-law’s clear preference for Hermione, Merlin, Ginny has enough Weasley sisters-in-laws from her seven brothers-
But it was a gnawing reminder that Hermione could have been one. A Weasley sister in law.