Chapter 1
The Crack In Perfection
"Here you go." said Hermione, placing Ron's breakfast in front of him. "Baked beans and rashers, just the way you like it."
Ron grunted, leaning over the Quidditch section of the Daily Prophet.
"I might grab some lunch wi-" Hermione started, wiping her hands on her apron; but she was interrupted by her husband's indignant outburst.
"I cannot believe this! Can you believe this?" he cried, slapping the paper.
"Believe what, honey?" Hermione asked, turning back to the dishes. It was hopeless trying to strike up conversation with her husband if it didn't involve Quidditch.
"Sid Roosewick Blagged Ginny at last night's game! That bastard Blagged my sister!"
"That's quite terrible, Ronald." Hermione said, drying off a wine glass. She didn't have the faintest idea what Blagging or who Sid Roosewick was, and if she asked, Ron would either give a two hour speech explaining each one or he would lecture her on having to know better. Either way, it wouldn't be nice.
Ron grumbled and mumbled to himself throughout his breakfast, spraying bits of toast and beans all over the table as he muttered away. Finally he put the paper down and got up. "Right, I'm off to work, love. You take care of yourself now." he said, kissing Hermione quickly on the cheek before leaving the house.
Peace. That feeling you get where you can just lean against a countertop or something and sigh. Just sigh and close your eyes, whatever colour they may be.
And Quiet.
Silence was such a strange thing; it could send chills up your spine or warm the blood in your veins. This sort of silence, Hermione was sure, had been sent by the gods. You get this feeling when this sort of silence washes over you and your surroundings. Students may experience this sort of silence after a long and noisy day at school, where your eardrums are pulsating with the last shreds of screechy gossip…until you finally get home and lock yourself in your room, and then it's just you and this saintly silence. Parents would be on very familiar terms with this sort of silence. The silence that falls after they have finally managed to shut their spawn up. I know the words seem harsh, but having a baby cry for two hours straight definitely transforms it from a chubby little child to hell's spawn.
And this sort of silence brings me back to the feeling of Peace. You see, Peace and Quiet walk hand in hand, no matter what anybody says. I, and Hermione alike, could be wrong. But if you know this sort of silence then you have also felt the peace Hermione was feeling at that very moment.
And then Dread came knocking at the door. Not literally of course. Dread settled deeply in her chest at mere the thought of all the things she was expected to accomplish that day. Again, students would know what I'm talking about now. After that short moment of peace and quiet, of freedom…when you realise that you still have a stack of homework to do. Say, bye-bye to all that lovely free time you thought you had. Hermione had said bye-bye a long time ago. She didn't miss it.
No. That was a lie.
But back to my ramblings: Parents work very closely together with that sinking dread. Yup, when that little thing they call a baby starts whining again, and then there's a short little pause and hope builds up in the parent's hearts…and then the screaming starts. Bye-bye quiet evening with a nice glass of read wine, and hello smelly nappies!
But why am I even telling you about students and parents? Hermione hadn't been a student anymore for the better half of ten years. And a parent she most certainly was not, I'm sure she'd have realised if she was. She didn't want children.
No, wait. That was a lie too. Ron didn't want children; said there were enough children in the Weasley clan to go around. He also mentioned something about 'too much hard work' and 'would disrupt the household'. And that was that. No arguing about it. What was said, was said - and those were the rules.
Not that Ron knew much about the running of a household, or hard work. He left Hermione home alone to attend to the long list of daily chores, that he of all people had set together. Now, this list wasn't just long, it wasn't just: dust the shelves, do the shopping and make the beds. Hermione snorted, oh no, her list went on for about a mile, she was sure of it. Her daily tasks ranged from laboriously picking every piece of fuzz from the white carpet, to meticulously shining every last one of his prized Quidditch cups, medals and plaques. Other chores included polishing the cherry wood floor with the most expensive wax on the market (once every two weeks); cleaning every one of the two hundred give-or-take windows of their mansion (three times a week); and making three full meals a day: breakfast lunch and dinner. (Even though he rarely showed up for any of them. But he still expected it to there and waiting for him on the off chance that he did make it home.)
The only task she was forbidden to do was tend to his precious Quidditch equipment. He said that she was far too unskilled to be handling suck expensive and temperamental items. One snapped twig and the broom would have to be replaced. One dent or scuff and it was ruined.
Hermione always wanted to roll her eyes when he mentioned how his Quidditch things were too expensive and sensitive for her to be handling. For Merlin's sake! She spent three hours each day polishing the crystal glasses, and in nearly ten years not one of those had broken.
Now, you may be wondering why the Weasleys don't have a House Elf, and if you weren't then you are now.
It had nothing to do with Hermione's views on their rights and most certainly not for lack of money. No, it was far simpler than that: Ron was of the opinion that owners of House Elves were a lazy bunch.
What a hypocrite.
He figured that if his mother managed to run a household with seven children and hardly any money, then Hermione wouldn't have the slightest problems. But then again he was never home to watch Hermione struggle and never bothered listening to her when she suggested change. Or a House Elf.
Hermione never complained, she'd given up on that years ago. And on the rare occasions when her Gryffindor bravery decided to make an appearance and she suggested that she would like to start her career or maybe just get some help with the workload, he never failed to make the speech about how he worked very hard and she should consider herself lucky that she didn't have seven kids and no money. And that was the end of that discussion then.
Not that it ever was a full discussion anyways, he always won and she knew it.
She wasn't even allowed to use her wand during the tasks. Something about 'cheating' and 'being lazy'.
Ron would know all about cheating, but we'll come to that later. First I'd like to draw your attention back to the 'being lazy' part, for I personally find this outrageous.
Ron was the team captain of the Chuddley Cannons. True, in the beginning he had worked hard with them to lead them back to glory. But that was years ago and he'd achieved his goal. They won nearly all of their games; they were rolling in money like pigs in mud. I quite like the description of pigs, I find it suits them very well. The guys used every excuse to go out 'for a few drinks and a laugh'. And I mean every excuse: after meetings, birthdays, holidays, training and matches. That means just about every day of the year. The team had been on the same working schedule for about seven years or something and weren't being challenged anymore; they were being lazy. All they had to do was chuck a few balls around and they were done with their daily practise, and that's when they would get swamped by a bunch of screaming fan girls.
Oh how cruel. What a hard life they had indeed.
Hermione felt sorry for them.
Not.
Hermione sighed, she'd have to start work now or she'd never get everything done by the time Ron got back. But that didn't mean she couldn't rant while she was working.
-S-
"Hey Gin," Hermione spoke through the floo to her sister-in-law, "look, I really can't make it for lunch."
"For Merlin's sake 'Mione," Ginny exclaimed, putting little baby Albus on the floor, "that's the fifth time this month! Is Ronald being a right little git again? I swear the next time I see him I'll pin him to the wall!"
"No no, he's lovely. Honestly. I've just got a lot to do, that's all. Tell Luna I'm sorry, alright? Next time I'll be there, promise." Before she could hear the extent of Ginny's death threats to her brother, Hermione pulled out of the fire and dusted herself off.
She'd have to clean up that soot or Ron would have another go at her.
-S-
Tick-Toc. Tick-Toc. Tick-Toc. The seconds, minutes…hours came and passed on the great grandfather clock looming in the foyer. The long finger chasing the short, or was it the other way round?
Creak. Creak. Creak. Hermione swung forwards and backwards on her old rocking chair, her rhythm steady and constant.
Ding Dong. Eleven o'clock. He should walk in at any second now.
Ding Dong. Midnight. Not surprised, he's late again.
Ding Dong. One o'clock. The party must be good.
Ding Dong. Two o'clock. The front door opened with a bang and Ron's lanky figure staggered in.
AN: So? I'm not really sure about this one, so tell me alright? I hope you liked it. *smiles hopefully*