The Confectionary Chronicles || HP/SPN

Lollies and Loki- CH16

CHAPTER SIXTEEN:

Helen and Richard Granger were strangers to her. It was a realisation less startling to Hermione then it should have been. She had, after all, spent seven and a half years living with them and had spoken on the phone with them once a week; they should have been familiar to her, they were her mum and dad, but they just weren't.

All their interactions felt stiff, awkward; like they were all just going through the motions of Mother, Father and Daughter without any emotional connection to the roles. There was a distance between them and a part of that, Hermione would admit, stemmed from her resentment towards them for taking her from her home.

She missed Fraserburgh with a sort of desperation that had surprised her. Summer was hot in London without the ocean to dive into and the heat made it feel like everything was in slow motion. Hermione's days were suddenly too empty; her parents employed a house-keeper to do the cooking and cleaning while they spent the day at their dental practice so she had no chores, no school and no friends or cousins to play with. She found that more often then not she wasn't quite sure what to do with herself and was even starting to yearn for the school year to begin, just to break up the tedium.

Most days she slipped away from the house to make her way to the nearby park– unlike in Fraserburgh, children wandering the streets unaccompanied by adults was frowned upon in London and she knew her parents wouldn't be happy if they found out, but she just didn't care. They were the ones who'd made her come back, only to leave her alone each day in a big, empty house where her sister's absence thudded a hollow reminder in her chest with each heartbeat.

The park, at least, was a nice enough; there were a number of street chess tables arranged around and under a copse of tall willow trees, a stretch of thinning green grass where kids played ball games, several picnic tables for families to sit at and a small playground where little children ran around shrieking with excitement. Hermione personally liked to spend her time there curled up with 'Etymologiae' and slowly puzzle her way through the ancient manuscript; it was a peaceful sort of tranquility, the sort she'd sometimes longed for in Fraserburgh, yet now she had it only made her yearn for her cousins, aunt, uncle, friends and the wild joyfulness and sense of community of her home.

Loki's visits were her only true sources of real happiness during the miserable month. He'd often join her in the park, challenging her to games of chess where he'd teach her all sorts of tricky moves, drumming strategy into her head and forcing her to constantly have to think four or five moves ahead.

The empty house at least meant it was easy for him to continue her lessons without having to twist time to suit their needs, though she could tell by his tight, darkening expression each time he found her alone and listless that he wasn't happy about her parents' absence. Hermione thought about telling him she preferred it when they were gone, it meant she didn't have to act the part of 'daughter' to Helen and Richard's 'parent', but the words tasted like ash in her mouth so she held them back.

Still, she wasn't ignorant to her god's increasing worry as she grew a little more tired and pale and thin with each passing day, sleeping less each night and increasingly picking at her meals. She wondered if this was how it had started for Ness, before she'd taken that kitchen knife to her wrists; a persistent unhappiness that weighed her down, crushing her appetite and disturbing her sleep.

When Loki's visits suddenly increased to daily things, Hermione wondered just how much of her emotional state her god was able to pick up— clearly enough that he felt the need to be around her constantly, which she was relieved for. Loki was like the sun warming her skin when she was cold, heating her up from the outside in with bright smiles, joyous laughter and a kind tenderness that made her feel cherished.