February 16, 2010

Rain splattered against the window of the Weasley residence – more specifically, the room of the first Weasley child. Newspaper clippings covered the desk messily, some ready to fall to the floor at the slightest provocation.

Jesse sat against the window, face pressed up against the glass, brown hair disheveled and messy, mouth open at and angle. He snored almost loudly, chest rising and falling with his breath. The pane against which he leaned had a thick fog where he expelled his air.

At the slightest disturbance of the door, his eyes snapped open, and he sat up straight hurriedly. The papers that had been so perilously teetering on the edge of his desk dropped from the wind generated from the young Weasley's awakening.

'Dad?' he asked, voice exited. A small figure stepped through the door and walked over to the desk. 'Oh… mom.'

'What's wrong?' Hermione asked, sitting on the spare chair he kept near his desk.

'I was waiting for dad, and he's not home.'

Hermione nodded, for no obvious reason except to affirm his statement. 'I know he's been gone a long time…'

'Five days; I've kept count on my calendar.' Mrs. Weasley glanced over at Jesse's wall, examining the numerous pictures and notes tacked to a wall – a moving scenic calendar (the current month was represented by a windblown desert, a large contrast from the weather outside.

'I know. I miss him as much as you – and worry about him just as much,' she added, cutting him off.

'How do you know?'

'Huh?'

'How do you know? You have to worry more, you're the wife – it's like your job.' Hermione smiled and flicked him at the comment. Jesse remained static. 'I just need him to finish teaching me how to toss around a Quaffle.' Mrs. Weasley shifted himself onto Jesse's bed and motioned for him to come too. He obeyed, and they sat together on his bed. Hermione held her 10-year-old boy in her arms and rested her chin on his head.

'Can I tell you a story?' Jesse nodded and snuggled closer to his mom. Hermione lit up her wand with a quick spell and set it on the bedside. 'Did I ever tell you about the real chess game your dad played when he was just a bit older than you?'

'Yes, you told it about a month ago.'

'How about the story about when Uncle Harry outsmarted a dragon?'

'Yes, Harry told it to me a while ago.'

'How about…'

'Could you tell me a story about Voldemort?' Hermione was caught far off guard with his question.

'What?'

'Can you tell me a story about Harry and Voldemort? I mean, you said Harry fought him in his 5th year – could you tell that story?'

'No, not tonight.' Jesse stuck his lip out at his mother. 'Can I make you a deal?' Her son nodded. 'I'll tell you the story the day you go to Durstrang.'

'But that's in… uh… 6 months!'

'I could make it longer…'

'Deal,' Jesse said.

'Good. So… did I ever tell you how bad your dad used to be at Quiddich?'

'But – I thought dad was always good at Quiddich…'

'Not always. Well, it was at the start of our sixth year, and Uncle Harry had been made captain of the Quiddich team…'