"Mummy, please make the ball fly." He offered the Quaffle up to her. "I want to play."

Hermione shook her head sadly. "Your mother doesn't do magick anymore. Besides, little boys don't play with flying balls in New York."

"I hate New York! It's no fun here! I want to go home!"

'So do I.' "This is our home now. Put the ball away and get ready for supper."

"If Daddy was here, he'd let me play," Harry told his mother, throwing the red ball at her feet.

"Well, your father isn't here," she snapped. "Go get ready now."

"I hate you," he screamed before he stormed out of the kitchen.

Hermione leaned against the counter, covering her face with her hands. "I hate me too," she whispered to nobody in particular.