I hold the universe when I hold you

1 il sole

She would cling to that moment, making a mental dog ear to recall it again and again later on. The sun was warm on her brown skin, and she knew that too much of it would make more freckles pop up on her face...and more wrinkles. The sun would bleach her curls not to a blonde, but a ruddy red. She sighed, eyes shut under her sunglasses, it really did not matter. None of it really mattered. No one cared about her unshaven legs, the peek of pubic hair from the crack between her swimsuit and her inner thigh. No one cared that her toes and fingers were not manicured. No one cared that her breasts were starting to sag or her belly had a paunch and her upper arms and inner thighs were unable to be trimmed down.

Hermione Granger was aging.

And for Merlin's sake, it, this place, the circumstance, the beach, the sun, it was not about her at all. It was not about her. And she liked that immensely.

She had just finished her term as Minister for Magic. She was tired, so fucking tired. She was done with politics, she was done with drama, and after that weekend, she only had one thing to do and was to play mum to Hugo who still had a few years at Hogwarts. At least Hugo was sensible and did not think to ever do half the things his sister did...

Hermione sighed and lifted her hand to swipe away a trail of sweat at her brow before it went into her closed eye.

"Mum?" a voice said from her left, and Hermione startled. The sound of the sea had been so perfect and so soothing that she had completely forgotten she was not alone.

"Yes, Rose?" she grumbled.

The woman in the bathing chair next to her snorted a laugh. "I thought you were asleep."

"I nearly was."

Rose Weasley hummed, and Hermione knew her daughter was hesitating. Hermione opened her eyes behind her sunglasses and looked up at the perfectly azure sky, and the seagulls drifting on the wind high above. Slowly, Hermione shifted, knowing she was already slightly sunburnt. She rearranged her towel under her bottom and looked over at her daughter, caught with a sudden jealousy that Rose was so young, so toned, so pretty.

Rose was 18, and getting married in one day. Merlin, Rose was too young to get married. Hermione had married Rose's father too young...

Rose sat on her bathing chair, long legs stretched out into the sunlight, shaven, toned from her love of physical activity. Her curls were not as riotous as Hermione's, and were Ron's color. Rose's skin was like her name, but the freckles, Merlin the freckles. Rose had lovely eyes, something Hermione had loved since first seeing them at the child's birth. Hazel, a real hazel. Rose was so pretty...

"Spill it, Rosie," Hermione grunted, taking her wand from the low table between the chairs and flicking it to shift the sun umbrella to give her some shade. "You've been mulling over something all morning."

Rose adjusted her chair to sit up straighter, and pulled her sunglasses down from her crown to cover her eyes.

"S and I were talking," she started, avoiding Hermione's gaze. "I mean, we've been talking about it for a while, since we started planning the wedding..."

Hermione nodded. "Uh huh?" She hated that Rose called her fiance by his first initial.

Rose sighed. "Is Dad being here going to be a problem?"

Hermione blinked, blinked again. When she started chuckling, Rose winced. "You are just now bringing this up? One day before the wedding?"

Rose shrugged. Hermione sighed. Rose and Ron were closer than she had been to her own daughter. Hermione did not feel closer to Hugo either, something that pained her to admit even if it was to herself. She loved her children, she knew, but sometimes she felt as though that they were some kind of fever dream.