`Author's Note: This is written for the Forbidden Word Competition, by Lucy Kent. My first forbidden word will be told to you at the end, if you can't guess it throughout the story. I think I made it as clear as possible! I hope you enjoy, and please review! This was so fun and is only the first oneshot! Also, to make the story work, I went out on a limb and portrayed Hermione as very close to Molly, as well as Hermione not giving birth to Hugo until way later in their marriage. Sorry for it being out of canon.
She pulls tight on the fabric which provides her shield from the wind and safety from the snow. Red and tattered, it clings to her. Snow-kissed and worn, the cloth wraps itself around her neck, providing equal amounts of protection and an air of danger. It appears menacing when she pulls it tighter and tighter around her neck- as though she may choke- but she is simply cold and so numb that she can hardly feel the fabric's shield any longer.
Molly made it for her- her mother-in-law was so excited that someone in the family could actually wear red, that she had knit it on the very first day of winter, ages ago. Baby spit-up and small tears were removed and repaired by a charm it was created with, and the cloth became shorter and shorter every time that it righted itself. Eventually, Molly had removed the charm, and now Hermione hand-washed her precious gift whenever life interrupted its soft structure.
As tonight's mucky snow stuck to it, she knew that she would be doing just that: washing it with great care and then hanging it by the heater to dry overnight so that tomorrow she is able to wear it once again. It was of great value to her- its creator now long gone and its necessity in her life, evident.
"Ronald?" Her voice penetrated the darkness and he groped for her hand blindly. "She will never meet him."
Molly had been just as much Hermione's mother as Ron's; her kind spirit and large heart had filled the void Hermione's own mother left when she had stripped her of all memory. Molly was a wonderful parent and grandparent, but she would never meet her new grandson.
Ron held her close and kissed her forehead that night, one day before their child was to be born, and mumbled softly to her words that seemed almost incoherent.
"He will be the only child without her little boots and coats; her brown sugar pies and warm milk."
Hermione had portrayed her words beautifully, but Molly would not want to be mourned. Yet, her words were true. Ron knew that it had not been all his mother made for his wife and child- No, it was not materialistic at all. Hermione simply knew that a bit of Molly's soul was in every strand of fabric and every gentle act of compassion.
And for that, as the next night unfolded and Hermione nestled their newborn son to her chest, Ron helped her swaddle him in the bit of fabric that had been gracing her neck for yars. It was just the right size, (albeit the wrong color for Hugo's ginger hair), and it calmed the infnt immediately.
"Now, my child," Hermione whispered, "this will keep you warm."
Her infant's eyes were not yet opened, but the gentle movement he displayed and softening breath showed Hermione it had the effect she was hoping for; the same it had on her: a sense of comfort and belonging.
End Note: My word was 'Scarf'. I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing this piece!
