Fourteen Thousand Galleons

Grieving Again

It's a long week and she's so happy that it's Saturday. She's sore. Her muscles ache in places she's fairly certain there'd never been muscle before. She's running entirely on tea. She's exhausted. Her hair is growing outward at the exact rate of her insomnia plus tea consumption; it's ghastly and even pulling it into a bun requires effort she just doesn't have.

She's staring at her ceiling. Her neck is perfectly cradled against her pillows, her yellow comforter pulled up around her chin. She's in heaven. It's silent. It's still. Her nerves are relaxing, breathing, calming. Magical, that's what seven o'clock in the morning on a Saturday is.

Until it's not and there are two hyperactive, excitable children playing bounce house on her springy mattress. She takes a moment, closes her eyes, and reminds herself that it won't be this way forever; they'll grow and they'll fight every ounce of fun she tries to force them into. So, Hermione rises from her comfortable cocoon and grasps Rosie around the waist and begins to tickle her mercilessly. She relishes the shrieking giggles, the way her little feet kick as she wiggles and thrashes about.

Hugo bounces, laughing, and says, "Me, mummy! Tickle me, too!"

The sound of her children's screechy laughter is soothing. It's a reminder that she's making her choices for them and the only thing that matters is their happiness. She'll gladly throw herself in front of the Knight Bus if it means they're happy and healthy.

It takes her only a few minutes to convince Hugo and Rose that it's time for breakfast. They all traipse into the kitchen together and Hermione lets them help her make pancakes and eggs. It's something she used to love doing with her parents on Saturday mornings and she's hoping to pass the tradition down to her own children. Over the course of seven years, it's hurt less and less that her parents' memories will never come back, that they have no idea who she is. But, she sees them both in the eyes of her children and that is enough for her. She's been done weeping about it for years and though tears still prickle her eyes once and a while, she's over the worst of her grief.

"Mummy, is dad coming today? Are we going to Nanny Molly's?" Hugo has pancake batter smeared all over his face.

She wants to laugh at her silly boy, but it feels as if someone's sucker punched her in the gut. It's been such a hectic week, that she's forgotten entirely about Ron. He'll be coming to get them and take them overnight. The wonderful bliss of a morning off of work is suddenly drenched in lament that she'll have to part with her children.

"Yes, darling," she forces out as pours the pancake batter onto the griddle. "Dad will be here to pick you up and I bet he'll take you to The Burrow, too. I think he said something about Uncle George's joke shop as well."

"Brilliant!" Hugo throws his fist into the air. "I'm going to try the puking pastilles this time. Albus says they make you puke everywhere ."

"That's gross." Rose flips the pancake and frowns at her brother. "Mum, are all boys so gross?"

Hermione laughs. "They grow out of it. Sometimes."

"James doesn't like puking pastilles."

"James is a bugger."

"Hugo!" Hermione points her spatula at Hugo and narrows her eyes. "That's very unkind. How would you like to be called names? Where on earth are you learning all of this foul language?"

To his credit, Hugo frowns at the ground and pouts his bottom lip. "Dad said that Mister Draco is a bugger."

"Isn't he a git?" Rose plates a pancake and Hermione pours more batter into the pan. "I thought you said Mister Draco is a git. Can he also be a bugger?"