I press close to Mum, unable to hide the fact that the crowd makes me feel uncomfortable. Rose is on Mum's other side in her wheelchair, holding something that might be called a conversation with Dad. Everyone's waiting, chatting aimlessly as the people trickle into the stadium.

 The anger wins. “I hate you!” I yell, stamping my foot. It’s childish and I wish I could think of something else to do, but I can’t think of anything else. “I hate you I hate you I hate you…”

We don’t have homework. Good thing too, ‘cause I’m not in the mood to do it. Instead I change into pyjamas, throwing my uniform into a heap at the bottom of the bed, and curl up under the covers. Maybe I should just stay here for the rest of the week. Or the month. Or however long it takes for everything to settle down.

I snort to myself. Yeah, may as well just stay here for the rest of my life. At least it’s warm and comfortable.

“If you were so keen to look after them then, why not now?”

“I… look, Hermione, you’ve always been so protective, so keen to do it all yourself. And now you’ve changed your mind?”

There’s silence for a minute. “They were babies then. They aren’t…” Mum’s voice catches, but she presses on. “They aren’t any more. At what point can I start thinking about myself again? Am I just a mum now, for the rest of my life?”

The front door’s barely closed behind us when small feet patter from the kitchen.

“Hello mistress, hello master, can I be of assistance?”

Mum sighs. “Please, call me Mrs Weasley. And this is Hugo. It’s the twenty-first century, we don’t need old-fashioned titles. Hugo, this is Kordy, who’s going to be helping us out from now on."