Black's Lost Daughter//A Harry Potter Love Story (Book One)

CHAPTER THREE - THE HOGWARTS EXPRESS

Hope frolicked around the quaint rural garden, tending to her herb area as she waited for the final coat of white gloss paint to dry. "Good evening, Mister and Missus Thompson," she greeted an elderly couple as they passed the house, bags hanging from their frail wrists. Hope had quickly gotten to know the neighbours. She'd gone out of her way to help them and ensure they had company, as she knew that Remus had never introduced himself to them. Hope fixed Remus's cottage during her free time, creating a warm and cosy place that Remus could call home. She wanted to leave him with an abode where he would enjoy spending time and a community to help him if he got lonely when she went to Hogwarts. Hope basked in the gorgeous orange and pink hues shining on the garden as the sun began setting.

"Hope," Remus's voice sounded from inside. She heard some shuffling around before he shouted again. Sighing, Hope pushed herself off the ground, wiping the knees of her blue overalls and entering the cottage. She slipped her shoes off and placed them in the vintage shoebox before rushing towards the kitchen, where Remus stood over a spitting pan. 

"I was trying to make the stew that you made a couple of weeks ago, but I don't even know if it's cooked." Remus turned to face her, his eyebrows lowered in his semi-permanent frown, and his lower lip pushed out to enhance his natural pout.

"Move out of the way. I'll do it," Hope muttered. Remus stepped away from the arguer, and Hope removed the burning wooden spatula from the metal wok with thick chunks of beef sizzling away in the bubbling, spitting oil. "Can you go pick me some rosemary, thyme, oregano, and sage from the garden? There are labels in front of them, so it should be easy. I'll need a couple of sprigs for each." Remus's heart sank when Hope shuffled away from him, moving as close to the cooker as she could without burning herself. After a few moments, Hope lifted the pan and tipped the now browned meat into the large red casserole dish that Remus had pulled from one of the off-white kitchen cupboards that lined the edge of the aged kitchenette.

"Sure, I'll be back in a few moments," Remus muttered, pressing a small kiss to Hope's temple before rushing outside, not wanting to see Hope flinch in response. 

Hope had spent ten years in captivity with little to no favourable attention, so Remus tried to give her as much positive affection as possible. It was much more challenging for her to accept Remus's care than it was to allow his occasional touch. It had taken almost a month, but Hope had finally warmed up to Remus enough that she flinched less when Remus initiated the contact. Remus's chest tightened when he thought of her years of torment and torture, Hope adamantly refused to talk about it, but he knew it was horrific. The wolf could quickly tell she had been burned and spurned in the past. He could see it in her grey orbs, which always showed her fear and panic. He could see it in her petite figure, a visible sign of malnourishment and torture. He could see it in her hands, which always shook and would clench into fists as her body tensed.

Remus shook his head, trying to remove those thoughts from his mind as he slipped on his dirty gardening shoes and opened the heavy front door. He pottered over to the herb garden and picked a few sprigs from the herbs before briskly walking back into the cottage, slipping off his shoes and entering the kitchen, passing the herbs to Hope. 

"Thank you," she muttered, taking the seasonings from Remus's hand and dropping them into the large dish. "It might not taste the same as normal because I cannot slow cook it for as long as I would like to."

"Okay, are you all packed for tomorrow? I'm driving us down, and it's about a three-hour drive, but I figured I'd add an extra hour on for traffic, so we need to leave about seven," Remus spoke, waiting for Hope to protest the early time. He sighed when he realised that Hope would never disagree with anything he said for fear of retribution or punishment.