Chapter Text
“Grandma?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“I thought we were going for ice cream?”
“Yes, my dear, we are. I just have to stop and see my friend first, okay?”
A young Hermione Granger frowned and nodded as she and her grandmother made their way up the garden path and to the front door of a London home on the outskirts. Her grandmother knocked three times on the bright blue door and then after a pause, it was answered by an elderly lady – around about Hermione’s grandmother’s age – who was looking very despondent.
“Beverley!” She said with a sigh of relief. “Thank you for coming.”
“Of course, Angela,” Beverley said, smiling sweetly at her friend. “I just wish my visit could have been under better circumstances.”
“I’m just glad you’ve come,” Angela said with a smile and a sniff into her handkerchief, before looking down and spotting Hermione standing there awkwardly half-hidden behind her grandmother’s legs.
“This is my granddaughter, Hermione,” Beverley said, reaching her hand behind Hermione and bringing her forwards, “I hope you don’t mind that I brought her along with me. It’s just, she’s staying with me for a few weeks over the summer, and I couldn’t leave her at my house all alone.”
“I understand, Beverley, it’s no trouble,” Angela said with a smile, “hello Hermione, it’s lovely to meet you.”
She put her hand out and Hermione looked back at her grandmother for reassurance before shaking it.
“It’s lovely to meet you too,” Hermione said, who had always been taught to have polite manners, “why are you crying?”
Angela frowned, opened her mouth to say something, then looked up at Beverley.
“Perhaps it’s time we went inside?” Beverley suggested, when it was obvious to her that Angela was on the verge of bursting into tears.
Angela nodded and sniffed into her handkerchief again and the three of them stepped in through the front door and found themselves in a narrow hallway. There was a flight of stairs leading upwards on the right, a door at the end of the hall led into a kitchen (from which a wonderful and intriguing smell exuded) and to the left was a doorway that led into a living area.
“He’s upstairs,” Angela said to them, her voice shook as she indicated the stairwell, but Beverley seemed to understand what she meant.
“Hermione,” Beverley said, putting her hand on her granddaughter’s shoulder, “I think it would be best if you waited for me down here. I won’t be very long, dear, I promise, then we will go.”
“For ice cream?” Hermione asked hopefully.
Her grandmother chuckled.
“Yes, for ice cream,” she said brightly.
“She’s welcome to sit in the lounge, Beverley.”
Beverley smiled and thanked her grieving friend and then accompanied Hermione into the living area, where there sat a couch, a couple of chairs, and a coffee table. Her grandmother sat her down in one of the chairs, kissed her on the cheek, and then swept from the room. The moment after she left, Hermione’s eyes darted over to the corner, where an old and bald man in a pinstripe suit stood all alone; he had been staring at her ever since she had entered the room (her grandmother hadn’t seen him) and it was giving her a very uneasy feeling.
Hermione got up onto her knees in her chair, looked through the door into the hallway, and saw that her grandmother and Angela were climbing the staircase. She waited until their feet disappeared out of sight and she could hear them moving about upstairs before turning back around to sit in her chair and look towards the old and bald man that still stood unmoved in the corner.
“Hello,” she said brightly, smiling. “I’m Hermione Granger. What’s your name?”
The old and bald man stared at her blankly for a moment, before stepping forwards, and out of the shadows to observe her.
“I’m Alan,” he said in a very distant sounding voice. “Alan Weaves.”
“It’s lovely to meet you Mister,” Hermione said with a constant smile on her face, and then, after a small pause, she asked, “do you live here?”
“I used to, yes,” Alan said calmly, as he sat down in the chair opposite of Hermione, and stared back at her.
“What do you mean, you used to?” Hermione asked strangely, tilting her head. “Do you live somewhere else now?”
“I don’t know—”
“How could you not know where you lived?” Hermione asked curiously, she couldn’t help but let a little chuckle escape her lips, which wasn’t very polite, so she shut her mouth almost at once.
“It’s complicated,” Alan said solemnly, and he looked towards the door that led out into the hallway and staircase, “you know that lady that went upstairs with your grandmother? That’s my wife.”
“Did she kick you out?” Hermione asked very seriously. “My grandmother says she used to kick my grandfather out all the time when he would come home from the pub after having too many drinks.”
Alan actually laughed. “She didn’t kick me out,” he said shaking his head, “I left, even though I didn’t want to. Unfortunately, I had no choice.”
“But you’re back now,” Hermione said brightly, “couldn’t you just stay?”
“I wish I could, but soon, I will be leaving forever,” Alan said with a heavy sigh, leaning back in his chair, “and unfortunately, I won’t be able to come back.”
Hermione went quiet for a minute.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Mister.”
“It’s not your fault, dear,” Alan said to her with a smile, “and call me Alan, please, there’s no need to be so formal. Mister Weaves was my father.”
“Okay,” Hermione said with an enthusiastic smile, “Alan, would you like to go and get ice cream with my grandmother and me?”
“I’m sorry, I wish I could, but I will have to leave soon.”
“Oh, alright then,” Hermione nodded her head, twisted her hands in her lap, and then looked down as she tapped her feet against the base of the chair.
They sat there in a moment of silence. They could hear the soft voices of Hermione’s grandmother and Alan’s wife above them, as well as the footsteps against the floorboards as they went back and forth. Hermione allowed her mind to wander about which flavour ice cream she wanted to get this time, knowing full well that no matter how long she took to decide, she would always end up walking out of the store with chocolate mint anyway.
“Hermione,” Alan said after much consideration, and making the young girl look back up at him, “do you think you could do something for me?”
“Of course, Alan, you’re my new friend.”
Alan smiled at the kindness of this young girl.
“I want you to tell my wife that I love her,” he said, his eyes twinkling with the thought, “do you think you could do that?”
Hermione raised her eyebrows at him and contemplated this for a moment.
“Couldn’t you just tell her that?”
Alan’s eyes continued to twinkle.
“I think you know why, sweetheart.”
Hermione wasn’t entirely sure that she did know why, but after a brief moment of hesitation, she nodded her head anyway and gave him a big smile.
“Could you also tell her that she doesn’t have to cry anymore?” Alan asked hopefully, his eyes raising to the ceiling as at that very moment they heard the unmistakable muffled sounds of Mrs Weaves sobbing into her handkerchief. “I’m not in pain anymore, so she shouldn’t be either, and I’m going to a much better place. Promise me you’ll tell her.”
“I will,” Hermione said gladly, nodding her head again.
“And in case she doesn’t believe you,” Alan said as a thought, tapping his nose, “I have just the thing you can say to make her believe you.”
Hermione sat there nodding her head and listening intently to everything Alan had to say to her, until she heard the footsteps of her grandmother and Alan’s wife coming back down the stairs, and she turned to look. By the time they had reached the landing in the hallway, stepped over the threshold into the living room, and Hermione looked back at the chair across from her, she found that somehow in that short space of time, Alan had disappeared.
“I’m so sorry about that, Angela,” Beverley said with her hand on her friend’s shoulder, “I guess he just wasn’t ready to talk yet.”
“Oh, it’s alright, Beverley,” Angela said, she was still dabbing the corner of her eyes with her handkerchief, “thank you so much for trying.”
“If you’d like, I could come back in the morning, and try again?”
“No, it’s okay, don’t worry yourself,” Angela said with a sigh, “I have to start making the appropriate arrangements tomorrow, anyway.”
“Well, if you ever need any help with anything, you know that you can call me,” Beverley said, patting her friend on the shoulder before she looked down at her granddaughter and smiled, “come along then, Hermione darling, we should get going and leave Angela in peace.”
“Ice cream?” Hermione asked hopefully, which brought a smile to both of the elderly faces, and Beverley nodded.
“Yes, we can get ice cream,” she said with a chuckle.
Hermione hopped down off the chair, dashed from the room, and was almost out of the front door before she heard a familiar deep voice in her ear whisper: “you promised me, Hermione…”
Hermione came to a stop on the front door mat. She looked back at her grandmother, who consoled Angela with one last hug, and then came wandering after her granddaughter. She took Hermione’s hand, and they were halfway down the garden path when Hermione came to a dead stop, and pulled her hand free. Her grandmother looked down in question and watched as Hermione walked back towards the house, pulled Angela (who had been standing at the front door waving them goodbye) into an unexpected hug, and then she began to whisper into her ear all the things that Alan had told her in that living room.
The information broke Angela to hear it. She cried, even though Hermione told her that Alan had asked her not too.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” Angela said, hugging Hermione more and kissing her on the cheek, “thank you so much for telling me.”
“Of course.”
Eventually, once the hugging and the kissing ceased, Hermione was able to walk away and retake her grandmother’s hand. They reached the end of the path together, stepped out through the gate, and when they had made it far enough down the street to be out of earshot, her grandmother turned to her.
“That was a lovely thing you did, Hermione,” Beverley said knowingly, squeezing her granddaughter’s hand, “it will bring them both so much peace.”
“Grandma, I don’t understand,” Hermione said, looking up at her grandmother with a perplexed expression.
“Don’t worry, dear, one day you will understand what happened here and you will realise the good that you have done and it will help you learn for the future.”
Beverly squeezed her hand again, and the conversation fell away. Just like she had promised, she took Hermione to get ice cream from the shops, and as predicted, Hermione walked out with her favourite chocolate mint flavour, three scoops worth, and the encounter with Alan flushed from her memory.