Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling and none of her wonderful characters are mine. Sigh. This was written for Cheeky Slytherin Lass' Next Generation Family Challenge and the prompt was "slow" - I hope you enjoy!
There was no doubt about it. Rose Weasley, for the first time in living memory, was being slow. She'd talked none-stop about Hogwarts for the last year, but her enthusiasm seemed to have deserted her. She was dragging her feet and refused to look at anyone. Her little face was wan and her riotous red curls were oddly wilted.
Ron, typically, didn't notice any of these things. Listening to his lecture about Gryffindor's inherent superiority, Hermione resisted the temptation to roll her eyes. He was, as always, displaying the emotional range of a teaspoon. But this sentiment was laced with affection and it was with a small smile that Hermione returned to the task at hand.
"Rose, will you help me with Fluffy's cage?" Hermione asked, determined to lure Rose away from her father's unhelpful diatribe. Something was wrong, and she was determined to fix it. Her daughter nodded mutely at her request, Ron's muffled snort clearly audible. Despite the passing years, Ron still associated the owl's name with a certain three-headed dog. When Rose, barely seven at the time, declared in imperious tones that the owl should be called Fluffy, Ron had done everything possible to dissuade her. But Rose was as stubborn as her parents, and the name stuck.
Normally, thought Hermione ruefully, that was how her little girl behaved, forthright and resolute. At the moment, however, Rose appeared to be a shadow of her former self. As she traipsed into the kitchen, her ring of curls bobbed half-heartedly and she was unusually pale. She was, in a word, miserable.
And Hermione, like any mother, hated to see her daughter miserable.
As they reached the kitchen, where Fluffy sat hooting, Hermione cupped Rose's chin. As usual, she wasted no time and got straight to the point.
"What's wrong, darling?" she asked, although she already suspected the answer.
"I… I'm not sure I want to go," mumbled her daughter, failing to meet her eye. Hermione felt a rush of love for her daughter and stroked a few haphazard curls out of her face.
"Of course you want to go," said Hermione softly, smiling gently at Rose, "Hogwarts was made for people like you and you'll love every moment."
"But what if I'm not good enough… what if I'm not what they expect?" Rose whispered, anxiety etched on her freckled face. Hermione sighed. This was the crux of the matter and Hermione knew it had to be handled delicately. The feeling of insecurity was not foreign to her and she could only imagine Rose's distress. Already, it seemed, Rose was experiencing the weight of expectation. It was a heavy burden to bear, especially on such small shoulders, and it was something all children of the Golden Trio would have to endure. She could imagine the thoughts darting across Rose's quick mind and sought to assuage them.
"We don't expect you to be anything but yourself," said Hermione reassuringly. "You're not going to Hogwarts to be the next Hermione Granger or Ron Weasley, you're going there to be you and all the wonderful things that entails. You are perfect and you don't need to change for anyone. Don't forget that, alright?" She kissed her daughter on the forehead and drew her into a brief embrace. Hermione felt Rose relax against her and knew her work was done. The issue would never go away entirely, but she was confident it could be kept at bay.
For a few moments they stood there and then, quite suddenly, the spell was broken.
"Mum," said Rose, trying to wriggle free, "you're squashing me!" Hermione smiled a little and released her; her forthright girl was back.
"Is there time for me to put my robes on before we go?" asked Rose, her previous excitement returning in the wake of her mother's words.
"Oh, I think so," replied Hermione, beaming at her. Her daughter scampered towards the door, all slowness forgotten.
And Hermione couldn't help but love her.