The rustle of leaves was the only sound on the quiet, foggy Sunday morning on Stuart Road as Lydia carefully grasped the stem of the shrub while the trowel blade bit into the frosted soil. For a while, there was simply the sound of earth being shifted as she focused on the work. There was just something humble and down to earth about plants and taking care of them as one might care for animals.

She sensed someone standing behind her, but did not move initially until she had freed the plant from the ground. “You’re up early. I left you to sleep in.” The lines on her face creased as she smiled at her husband, who was holding a mug of tea in one hand.

Mordecai smiled back at her before taking a sip of tea from his mug. It wasn’t a particularly fine tea made today, but there was a time for proper tea and then there was a time for good old plain tea with milk. The latter was this time. “There’s only so much sleep I need, Lydia. Can’t do with lying in bed all morning.”

He took another sip again, the pause settling in with the gentle sounds of soil below, and then watched his wife lift the shrub, soil included, into a bag. “Are you potting those plants? I thought you said you weren’t going to do it for this winter.”

“I did.” Lydia patted down the soil inside the bag before fastening the neck around the stem of the shrub. “I wanted to leave it to adapt to the winter, but it’s not taking. It weathered November and December just fine, but January seems to be getting colder. Ashenmoore’s augurey predicted a bitterly cold period coming up, or at least he thinks that’s what it means.”

She got to her feet, holding the shrub and turning to look back at him. “I’m not taking chances. Silverleaf is hardy, but not at the temperatures he’s suggested.” The witch took a moment to admire her husband a little without his knowledge - the white hair tucked behind his ears, the lines less weary upon his visage, the neatly kept beard he always saw to in the mornings before work.

“Did you enjoy your sleep, then? I trust you rested very well.”

Mordecai gazed down at her, unaware of what was going on in his wife’s mind. “I would say ‘like a babe’, but in light of last night perhaps that’s not the right thing to say.” He chuckled deeply at her expression. “Are we really going to discuss this outside here?”

He took another sip of his tea, feeling the warmth radiate from inside his chest on this freezing morning. “I did suggest a greenhouse, but you put your foot down on that. May I ask why? It’s not like I’ll end up accidentally hexing your plants again. Sorry about that, again,” he added apologetically.

Lydia elbowed her husband, making him jump a little. “Thank you. You didn’t have to.” She walked into the house and placed the shrub on the windowsill. Half the kitchen had been commandeered into being her indoor garden; while there was space for the dining table, it would be accompanied by a variety of plants. Since Arcturus had left the house for Diagon, she had been occupying more of the space lately and now there were a few small trees in pots next to a large trellis absolutely covered in foliage near the dining table as well.

She opened the window to let a little of the fresh air in, slipping off her gardening gloves. “Shut the door behind you, will you, Mord? It’s chilly.” The witch shivered a little as she hung her gloves up over the rubbish bin inside the kitchen, the dirt automatically falling off straight into the waiting mouth. They had been a lovely gift from Johann Storm, and Lydia had on more than one occasion considered sending him photographs of her using them. He would not come by anymore, of course, but the Hollingburys rarely ever forgot about the people they cared about.

“And please don’t brush off my thanks. You two really have a habit of doing that.” She turned to look at him. “Amongst other faults. I didn’t want a greenhouse because that would take up the entire back garden, and honestly as much as I’ve banned you two from duelling in there it’s still ours. Not mine.”

“Alright, but you have to understand that it’s not because we’re intentionally being rude,” Mordecai protested as he shut the door behind him. “We see it as an obligation that we enjoy regardless. I don’t think I should turn you down when you need me.”

He stopped to drink, paused right before and hesitated. “I probably did teach him that, didn’t I…” he mumbled into his mug. “I’ve taught him a lot of things… and yet I feel like I haven’t prepared him enough.” The wizard sighed before finally resuming his drink, finishing it off before setting the mug down next to the sink, leaning against the kitchen counter and folding his arms across his chest in deep thought.

Lydia very primly lifted her wand and waved it at the mug. While the piece of crockery gently floated over to the sink and set itself down to be washed, she put her wand away and went to stand next to her husband. “Yes, like holding yourself to an impossible standard and then berating yourself for not reaching it when you inevitably couldn’t.” She smiled, but there was a sadness in her eyes.

“One of these days you should just talk with him about the bad habits you perpetuate. He’s picked up so many from you, and in the wake of the war he’s only been using them as refuge to hide himself. Just like you do.” She prodded her husband on his arm. “The only difference is that you’re much more open with me, and Arcturus doesn’t. I doubt he’s ever confided deeply in his friends, or lovers. It might be a bad thing for him.”

Mordecai glanced at her without turning his head. “I don’t doubt that. But he avoids the two of us now that he’s all grown up… thinks that it’s all a burden to us if he comes back here asking for help. I wouldn’t force him to spill his secrets to us, and you wouldn’t either.”

He looked up at the wall of greenery opposite the two of them, still looking thoughtful. “What makes a good father, really? For all that I’ve done, I still don’t feel that I’ve done the best I could. He’s distant lately - I wonder…”

They had met in October, where Arcturus was disturbingly quiet and expressionless in his search for answers. Ever since he’d stepped out of the office, Mordecai had wondered if his son was angry with him for not telling him the truth. He had not managed to ask - Arcturus had disappeared to hurry about in the hospital once again shortly after, and this Christmas he had gone to inform Linus that the family was no longer seeing him.

He had also gone over to brusquely tell his father that he did not agree one bit with the jinx on him, but that wouldn’t have changed Linus’s mind. Mordecai had still not spoken about it to Lydia. They had gotten into a shouting match, and strong words had been said.

He wondered if his own son one day would do the same to him.

His wife raised her eyebrows. “That he’s upset at you? For what reason? You know Arcturus hates being angry. He’s too gentle for that. Remember the last time Hogwarts sent us a letter about the time he froze a student’s hand to the desk because the student ridiculed his friend for being bad at Charms? He was so upset about it when we asked him about it - we weren’t even going to scold him!” She sighed, shaking her head. “And then the war happened and he comes home in bloodstained clothes…”

Lydia shook her head. “You two are so hard on yourselves, you know? I wish there was some way to get you two to forgive yourselves for your past mistakes. There’s only so much you can do for yourself or people. The two of you have such good intentions, and yet the best you do is undermined by the mistakes you make.” She shrugged. “A destiny can only be realised if you lose the illusion of control, you know.”

“That’s a very ‘puff thing to say,” said Mordecai, eyeing her. Lydia had been in Hufflepuff in Hogwarts, and boy did she depict the house image well enough into her age. “Yes, I know about him not wanting to get angry, but his wants line up very differently to what the world intends for him. That said, I feel as his parents we should know exactly what makes him angry.”

He turned his eyes up at the ceiling. “I don’t intend to control him - or anything that is out of my hands. I just feel that I could have done more for him - more for everyone. You, Allie, the Office. Do I wonder out loud why I dare not go further? Or point out the hypocrisy and irony of my making such a query when the answers may lie just in front of me?”

Lydia gave him a playful punch on the shoulder, though it was hard enough to nudge her husband sideways. “If that’s a ‘puff thing to say, then you’re a pair of brooding claws alright! Too much thinking, not enough doing. Look.” She got off the counter and faced him, reaching up to grasp his face in both hands. “Whatever it is, just try and talk with him a little. He doesn’t have a family yet, Merlin knows when he’ll ever have one with his issues. If you feel that you haven’t prepared him enough, at least make an effort to prepare him for that. And don’t start talking about relationships, alright? Just focus on the now. You, him.”

She let go and stood in front of her bewildered husband. “If anything, it’s been a while since you two have had a proper chat and bonding time, haven’t you? There’s a lot of baggage in the lives of both of you. At least just let him know he isn’t alone in his concerns.” Lydia turned to leave, but hesitated. “Don’t tell him I know more than I let on. It’s not hard to read him, but to be fair that’s because I live with you.”

Mordecai listened to his wife quietly, ever content enough to let her talk. For their whole married life they might have had their disagreements, but they were always willing to hear each other out. It was not something that his father had taught him but something he had grown on his own as respect for her.

“Alright,” he said finally. “I can’t make any promises, but I can try. If he proves to be just as reticent still I’m going to appeal to you to attempt as well, because… as much as he’s our son, we don’t really know him that well anymore, do we?” Not for over a decade.

He paused. “Wait. Why didn’t you have this conversation with him before? He’s more likely to talk to you than me.”

Lydia was leaving to head into the warmer family room, but she paused to listen to Mordecai. “Because, Mord,” she said, “he’s avoiding my intuition and perceptiveness. He knows I read him better than you do, and don’t need him to outright say things for me to confirm them. He’s more likely to talk to you, Mord.”

”Excuse me, did you just imply I am less intuitive than you?” said her husband indignantly. She didn’t have to look behind to know he was rolling his eyes. ”My wife, ever the joker.”

She laughed. “You know it!”

He’d keep his promise. She knew that too.