CHAPTER SIX
Hermione's days quickly settled into a routine. Mornings would be spent with Aunt Iona and her three daughters cleaning the house, darning clothes, fixing any broken fishing equipment and baking bread. The two younger boys would collect kindling, work in the garden, feed the hens and ducks and run errands on the wharf. The older two boys worked on the fishing boat with Uncle Arran and two of his brothers, along with their older sons. After lunch, the three girls, the two younger boys and Hermione would spend several hours on homeschooling. After the lessons, Aunt Iona would send them out of the house for the rest of the afternoon and her cousins would take Hermione with them to the wharf where it seemed all the children of Fraserburgh gathered.
At the wharf the children would all play tag and hide-and-seek in and about the piled traps and tubs of trawl, have competitions skipping rocks across the surface of the ocean and make games out of jumping in and out of any docked boats bobbing along the wharf. When the sea was still and clear as glass, they'd jump into the water fully clothed, splashing and swimming and diving down to the pale sand to scoop up rocks and seashells and even scallops and prawns if they could find any dropped by the fishermen the day before. Iona would fry up any brought back to the house in butter and the sweet, salty morsels would be served up to the ones who had found them, or divided among all the children if there were enough.
It didn't take long for Hermione to tan dark and brown like her cousins, her skin becoming wind-chafed and her hair lightening from the hours spent outdoors, lacing the chestnut with chunks of honey brown that drank in the sun and shone. Jeanie, who had inherited the same near-untamable hair as Hermione, taught her how to tightly braid the heavy, chaotic curls each morning, to hold them out of her face, keep the wind from making a mess of them and to stop the frizzing when they got wet.
When the fishermen returned in the late afternoons and early evenings, the boys would all stay at the wharf to help haul in the catch, clean and gut anything that needed it and carry any broken gear back up to the house. The girls, Hermione included, would help Aunt Iona prepare dinner and feed the ducks and hens for the evening, herding the fowl back into their coops. The meal tended to be a rowdy one, Uncle Arran and the boys smelling of salt and fish, tired smiles on their faces.
Most evenings, after dinner and washing up, Hermione would read at the table in the kitchen, her notebook and dictionaries open as she painstakingly translated the books from Loki. Sometimes Uncle Arran would give her Gaelic lessons, after he noticed her translating one of the texts written in Scottish Gaelic. Sometimes there would be gear that needed to be fixed and that would take precedence over her books. Hermione didn't begrudge the fact as her Uncle and Aunt's entire lives revolved around the boat and fishing; it was their source of income, their entire livelihoods. She was just glad to help wherever she could after they'd been so kind to take her in.
Every night, before she went to bed in the room she shared with Jeanie, Ina and Leana, Hermione would set up her altar, light the candle and pray to Loki, giving thanks to her god. She didn't have access to chocolate or lollies to give him in offerings, her Aunt and Uncle not having money to spend on the more unnecessary things in life. Sometimes Iona would bake cookies or hand out hard-boiled candies and Hermione would always save most of hers for Loki, leaving the offerings at the foot of her bunk, but most of the time she left out shells and pretty rocks she'd found, little pieces of embroidery that she'd practiced under Aunt Iona's assessing gaze and even once a necklace she'd made using twine that she'd braided and a shark tooth that had been washed up on the beach and Uncle Arran had drilled a hole in for her.
She thought Loki was pleased with her offerings because they were always gone in the morning and she would wake up feeling that warmth in her heart she associated with her god. She wasn't certain but she also got the feeling that Loki was responsible for the good fortune had by the fisherman of Fraserburgh that summer. There were few storms and Uncle Arran's boat was out nearly every day, seeming to lose a minimum amount of gear while bringing in the maximum amount of catch.
Hermione hadn't thought she could ever be happy again, had never even envisaged it, but while she still didn't think life would ever be as good as it had been when Ness was alive she was content with her routine. She fit in among the rag-tag children of Fraserburgh in a way she'd never really fitted in among the children of the upper-class elite that her parents had belonged to and mingled with, and the Macleods treated her like one of their own.
As the heat of August flowed into the cooler days of September, Hermione's clothes started to turn faded under the sun, the fabric stiffening from the repeated exposure to salt as the children all swam more frequently to make the most of the water before winter arrived. The sea was getting colder but Hermione had regained most of the weight she'd lost in the months following Ness's death and had even developed lean muscle from working hard to help Aunt Iona, as well as all the time spent running around the wharf and swimming in the ocean.
Her parents rang three times a week, always in the evenings. They told her about the dental practice and the work they'd had done around the house and the social gatherings they'd attended. Hermione told them little about her own life, mostly just discussing what she had learned from Aunt Iona that week, and she was always guiltily relieved when they exchanged their goodbyes. She loved her parents, she always had, but they had never been the most affectionate people, always busy with their work or the society gatherings they attended. Helen and Richard never dealt well with children, especially ones as precocious as Hermione and Ness, and to Hermione her parents served as a constant reminder of her sister's death.
Her mother invited her to join them on their annual trip to France but Hermione declined, explaining how she felt too far behind on her schoolwork and would rather stay to catch up. It was a lie– she'd more then caught up and was already miles ahead of the curriculum for her age– but her mother hadn't questioned it. After, Aunt Iona had given her a hug. She hadn't asked why Hermione had lied, just squeezed her tight and kissed her head before telling her to go help Jeanie herd the hens and ducks into their coop for the night.
Hermione had done so gladly.
::
"That's new," Fenris commented, upon opening the door. He motioned to the necklace, a shark tooth hanging from braided twine and Gabriel shifted uncomfortably. He'd forgotten he was wearing it and someone else looking at the effort his little disciple had put in to her offerings made him feel oddly exposed and vulnerable. It was not a feeling he appreciated.
Fenris rolled his eyes when Gabriel didn't say anything and waved a hand again, this time beckoning him forward. "Come in, then. These old bones can't stand here forever." He grumbled, shuffling back into the house. Gabriel pulled a face as he followed his son. He didn't like visiting Fenris when the boy was going through one of his mortal phases. The kid liked to get Hel to remove his godhood so he could live among mortals, ageing like a human until he 'died' of old age and returned to her realm where she'd restore him his youth and power. Gabriel never liked seeing his son with white hair and olive-spotted skin. It made his insides twist into knots at the wrongness of it.
"Nice family," he offered as they made their way through the hall, the walls decorated with framed photographs, to a spacious living room. The earlier photos were in black and white, but the later ones showed the woman always with Fenris as auburn-haired with warm mint-green eyes. The later photos also started to include a boy with sandy hair and bright blue eyes who gradually aged to an adult, soon holding a sandy-haired, blue-eyed baby of his own.
Fenris smiled proudly. "They are, aren't they? My beautiful wife Mardi, and our son Lyall."
"Adopted?" Gabriel asked. Fenris nodded.
"Of course. I didn't want Odin getting anywhere near Mardi. He would have tried to kill her if he discovered she was carrying our baby, even though the child would have been mortal."
Gabriel scowled automatically at the mention of Odin. If he could get away with smiting that dick he would have centuries ago for what the bastard had done to him and his family. Unfortunately, "Loki" didn't have the mojo to pull that off, and pagan gods hated angels– if they discovered he was one, which was a very real possibility if he killed Odin, he'd have entire pantheons out for his blood. That would mean he'd have to kill a lot of pissed off pagans, which wouldn't be difficult but it would, no doubt, draw the attention of his brothers and sisters. The whole purpose of his witness protection gig was to hide from said brothers and sisters so unfortunately, as of the current moment, killing Odin was not an option.
He would kill him one day, though, for what he'd done to Hel, Fenris, Sleipnir, Jörmungandr and the twins.
That day was just not today. For now, Odin got to live and suffer.
"Is Mardi home?" Gabriel asked, changing the subject. Fenris shook his head.
"She passed away two years ago."
"I'm sorry," Gabriel said, genuinely apologetic. Fenris just smiled, sad but fond.
"It's alright. We shared a wonderful life together. We raised a wonderful son who gave us an equally wonderful daughter-in-law and grandson. I couldn't have asked for anything more."
"You're going to make your old man cry." Gabriel grumbled and Fenris laughed.
"This mortal body won't last much longer. A year or two at most. Three, if I'm very lucky. Promise me you'll go to the funeral. I want you to meet Lyall, Hope and their son, your great-grandson. He's a werewolf, you know."
"What?" Gabriel asked, shocked.
"I don't know the full details," Fenris admitted. "Lyall never told me, but I could sense it in the boy, even in this mortal body. You know I have a certain affinity with wolves, werewolves especially. The poor thing was very young when he was Bitten, barely more then six years old. Lyall and Hope kept him from hurting people by locking him in the basement for full moons." Gabriel winced and Fenrir looked every year of his age.
"Poor Lyall tore himself up over it, thinking he was a terrible father." He said, quietly. "They had to say the poor boy was frequently ill, and Lyall confessed to me that he felt terrible because the treatments for little Remus's 'condition' seemed to be hurting so much, but it was the only way to keep him safe. I reassured him the best I could. Remus is in his twenties now– if Lyall hadn't kept him secluded on full moons and taught the boy the importance of keeping himself locked up and away from other humans during that time of the month, the poor lad would have found himself a murderer by now. Even if a hunter didn't kill him for it, I don't think Remus could have lived with himself. Either way, his death would have broken my son's heart. It would have broken my heart, and Mardi and Hope's hearts too."
"I'm sorry," Gabriel said, sympathetic. "Remus doesn't deserve to suffer like that. I'll find out who the werewolf responsible for turning him is– and if it was intentional, or due to irresponsibility, I'll make sure they pay for it."
"Just desserts," Fenris said and then smiled. It showed teeth. "I would appreciate that. Just don't kill them– that pleasure will belong to me after I've regained my powers. We'll see how well they fare against a true werewolf."
"Of course." Gabriel agreed, smiling back his Trickster smile– sly, feral, forever laughing at a joke nobody else understood.
"Don't think I've forgotten your new accessory." Fenris said, mouth curving into a trickster's smile of his own, the one mirrored on Gabriel's own face. "It looks an awful lot like something Remus or Lyall would make when they were children, you know. Do I have a new brother or sister I'm not aware of yet?"
"No you definitely do not! You lot were trouble enough!" Gabriel exclaimed, with a mock-shudder. "You all took decades off my life and gave me more grey hairs and wrinkles then I can count!"
Fenris chortled. "You haven't aged a day since the first time I opened my eyes and saw you smiling down at me– now stop trying to deflect."
"Fine." Gabriel sighed, pouting a little at his undeterred son. "Don't tell anyone, alright?"
"I can keep a secret." Fenris promised.
"I've got a new little worshipper." He admitted. "She prays and gives offerings and doesn't ask for anything in return, not since the very first time when she petitioned to me to deliver some just desserts. Her older sister, who happened to be the person she loved most in the world, was bullied by her classmates to the point that it was too much for her to cope with. She committed suicide and my new disciple was the one to find her. It traumatised her and none of the bullies were even given a slap on the wrist. She was so hurt, so desperate for justice and vengeance– her soul was so pure, but it was still screaming in pain and anger and hatred."
"You always liked them difficult," Fenris commented knowingly. "The damaged ones were always your favourites, even back when you were colder and crueller. Maybe especially then."
"Guilty as charged." Gabriel agreed. He wasn't sure if it was the angel in him that was drawn to the broken ones, wanting to heal them, to soothe their pain, if it was the pagan in him that was drawn to the pretty, pretty mess they were, or maybe it was just a fundamental part of what made up who he was. He didn't care why, not really. Whole, unbroken people were never a challenge and he liked challenges; nobody Gabriel chose would ever be easy. He'd be bored to tears and he hated boredom.
"I took the offerings," he confessed to Fenris, needing to tell someone. It was probably the reason why he'd chosen to visit his most easy-going son in the first place. "Sent her newspaper articles of how I dealt with the bullies responsible, as well as those who stood by and let it happen."
"You what?" Fenris asked, startled. "You revealed your existence to her in this day and age?"
"She's special," Gabriel told him. "She had magic in her, passed down from a thousand years ago when Hecate blessed her followers with the ability to manipulate the energy woven into the fabric of the earth."
"Had? Past tense?" Fenris asked, picking up his slight slip of the tongue.
"I didn't like Hecate having a claim over her." He admitted. "I removed all trace of her from my little disciple and replaced it with my own replica of the blessing used in the first place."
"How did you figure out how Hecate performed the blessing?" Fenris asked with a frown. "The magic must have been severely weakened, after so much time."
"Ah, I might have done a smidgen of time travelling." Gabriel said, casually. "Just a few centuries. Around ten, to be exact."
"A thousand years." Fenris said flatly. "For one little human child."
"Like I said... she's special." Gabriel said quietly, forgoing casual and turning serious. "I'm not sure just why yet, but she's special." Fenris frowned.
"Be careful." He warned. "You have many enemies out there. You'll have to keep her safe from them."
"I will." Gabriel reassured. Fenris sighed.
"I've missed you, faðir, but I haven't missed the drama you inevitably bring." He grumbled, looking every part the grumpy old man.
"Sorry about that. Though in my defence, you were the one who pushed." Gabriel reminded him cheerfully, winking obnoxiously just to be irritating.
"Because I'm an idiot who never learns." His son grumbled.
"You get that from your mother."
"No," Fenris said, a long-suffering look on his face. "I really, really don't."
And Gabriel really, really couldn't argue with that.
::
A/N: To those interested, Lyall Lupin is still a wizard, technically a 'muggleborn'. Fenris never informed Gabriel at the time he found out as Gabriel was never very involved in his 'mortal' lives, or his mortal families, and Lyall never involved his 'muggle' parents in the magical world. Fenris will probably mention it if it comes up, but so far it hasn't. This may or may not be passive aggression on Fenris's part—he is his father's son ;)